


The Rules

by mysticanni



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Baking, Blood and Injury, Bodyguard, Cooking Lessons, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Guns, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Violence, Sharing a Bed, Stalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:07:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24573553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticanni/pseuds/mysticanni
Summary: When Roger starts to receive anonymous notes from a stalker Crystal is hired as his bodyguard.Crystal asks Roger to obey two rules for his own safety.At least even Roger should be able to follow two rules, Miami reflected, although one of the rules was effectively to do as you were told and therefore not one of Roger’s strong points.Crystal's own main rule is not to get too emotionally attached to his client.Will they both be able to keep to the rules?  Or are some rules meant to be broken?
Relationships: Chris "Crystal" Taylor/Roger Taylor
Comments: 64
Kudos: 53





	1. The Rules Exist For Your Safety

The Rules Exist For Your Safety

Miami stared at the photocopied notes strewn across his desk. He looked up as the band trooped in – Freddie first, then Brian followed by John and, finally, Roger, who closed the door behind him and gave Miami a hug before joining the others as they draped themselves across the comfortable chairs in the office.

“Thank you for coming,” Miami said, standing in front of his desk, as if trying to shield them from the notes, although the whole purpose of asking for the meeting had been to make them aware of the damn things.

“You sounded very serious on the phone, dear,” Freddie observed.

Miami sighed. There was no way to ease into this news. “I’ve been receiving troubling anonymous notes,” he began, “one note has arrived every Monday for the past five weeks. I’ve been taking them to the police who will be testing the originals for fingerprints and so on.”

“Are they posted or hand-delivered?” John asked.

“They are hand-delivered,” Miami informed him. “The police have checked the CCTV feeds for the office too.”

“You’ve been receiving anonymous notes for five weeks but you are only telling us now?” Brian frowned.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Miami shifted uncomfortably under their combined scrutiny. He perched on the edge of his desk, keeping his body between the band and the copies of the notes. 

“But you do want to worry us now?” Roger suggested softly.

“The last two notes have been... alarming...” Miami confessed.

“Is that what is on your desk?” Brian asked, jumping up and loping towards the desk.

“These are copies,” Miami said, repeating, “The originals are with the police.”

Brian chuckled as he examined the notes. “These are like old-school ransom notes,” he exclaimed. “They’re made up of letters cut out of newspapers and magazines!”

Read them, Miami thought, slightly irritably. He did not think Brian would sound so delighted with the writer’s creativity then. “Someone has certainly spent a considerable amount of time preparing the notes,” Miami said.

The others rose and moved towards the desk too. Miami turned and watched as Brian’s face fell. “I don’t think...” Brian faltered. Brian didn’t think the others should read those messages. Miami had thought that too. 

“Ooh, are they rude, dear?” Freddie wondered, snatching a note off the desk. “Oh, Rog, you’re mentioned here... Oh!”

“Let me see, then,” Roger laughed, reaching out for the paper in Freddie’s hand. Freddie held it away from him. “Fred?”

Freddie’s eyes met Miami’s eyes. “That one arrived this morning,” Miami said simply.

“Let me see,” Roger repeated. He was no longer laughing.

“No, don’t you look, dear,” Freddie advised him.

Miami shook his head. “Show him,” he requested, “he needs to know.” He understood how Freddie felt. His own first instinct had been to protect Roger too. However, Roger could not protect himself if he did not know there was a threat.

*

The photocopies of the notes had been neatly numbered and dated by Miami. The first simply said: your drummer is a very pretty boy. It had made Miami think of talking parrots. Who’s a pretty boy, then?

The next made the observation that ‘Roger looked so pretty on stage last night’ and the third one noted that ‘Roger looked beautiful in blue today. He’s so pretty.’

Roger had spread the copies of the notes across Miami’s desk and was studying them. The others had moved into a protective semi-circle around him and Miami wondered if they realised they had done so. Roger tapped the third note. “We didn’t have a show around this date?” he said, looking up at Miami for confirmation, which he gave.

“Perhaps the sender saw a publicity shot online, dear,” Freddie suggested, sounding uneasy.

“Yeah,” Brian agreed, “it doesn’t necessarily mean they are watching you.”

Miami sighed. In a way he would have liked to continue to protect Roger from the disquiet that came with thinking some unknown person was watching his every move but the time had come to make him aware of the need for vigilance. He did wish Brian hadn’t voiced the idea quite like that, though.

*

Roger nodded in apparent agreement with Brian but he thought he knew the outfit the note writer had meant, which was an outfit that he had simply been wearing in his ordinary everyday life, an outfit the note writer would not have seen if he had not been watching Roger. He tried to think what he had done on that date, where he had been. Were there any publicity shots of him wearing those clothes? He thought not. Where had this stranger noticed him? 

He read the fourth note out loud, “Your pretty drummer should be mine. Perhaps I will take him.”

Freddie placed a comforting arm around Roger’s shoulders. “The police will find him, darling.”

John nodded. “He’s almost certain to have left at least one fingerprint or D.N.A somewhere along the line.”

Roger thought that would only be helpful if the note writer was already on a police database, which they may not be. Also, considering the amount of effort they had put into the notes he suspected they would also have tried to ensure they had not left any potentially incriminating evidence on them. 

He picked up the fifth note, which read: I am going to take pretty little Roger for myself. You don’t deserve him.

Roger looked up at Miami. “You said they are hand-delivered?”

Miami nodded. “They are pushed under the main door in to the building at some point while the office is closed so they are laying waiting on Monday morning. The envelopes have my name on them using the same style of cut out letters as the notes themselves. The police are examining the envelopes too, of course, and the person who delivers the letters has been caught on CCTV however they were of average build and wearing dark clothing with a hood obscuring their face. They also seem to arrive at varying times of the night and the police have been unable to trace their route so far.”

“I’m sorry you’ve been living with this stress,” Roger said softly, “and that you didn’t feel you could share the burden with us.” He set the note back on the desk and moved over to hug Miami.

“So,” John said, “is our only option to sit around waiting for the police to find this person or can we take action ourselves? Should we hire a private investigator?”

“I considered that,” Miami told them, gently disentangling himself from Roger’s embrace, “but I don’t want to antagonise the police, who are taking the matter seriously. One of the police detectives suggested hiring a bodyguard for Roger.”

“A bodyguard,” Brian echoed, sounding startled. “Is that really necessary?”

John glared at him. “Someone is almost certainly watching Roger,” he snapped, “and you’ve read the notes: there’s a definite threat there!”

Brian held both hands up in a placatory gesture. “Okay! Okay! It just seems so... dramatic.”

“We’re rock stars, darling,” Freddie pointed out, “fledgling ones, at least, so we can do dramatic!” He looked at Miami. “How does one obtain a nice fit bodyguard, dear?”

Miami smiled, “One contacts the Security Industry Authority or S.I.A, to find out about close protection operatives who are licensed by them.”

“Do they have photos of the possible candidates?” Freddie wondered, “I feel it would be nice for Rog to have some eye-candy.”

“Thanks, Fred,” Roger grinned, feeling slightly better, “um... Close protection?”

“Apparently that’s the official term for a bodyguard,” Miami explained, “I’ve learned that it is a specialised area of security work. I’ve been doing some research and it seems that the best close protection operative in the UK is a Mr Christopher Taylor, who goes by the name of Crystal, I’m told.”

“So we’re hiring him for Roggie?” Freddie asked.

“How much is this going to cost?” John wondered.

“We can’t put a price on Roger’s safety!” Freddie snapped.

Roger’s stomach lurched. Of course, this would mean money, possibly a great deal of money, being spent on him alone. Although the last album and tour had been successful there still wasn’t much money around as the legal battles to extricate them from their previous disastrous contract raged on. He cleared his throat, “Perhaps I don’t need a bodyguard just yet,” he suggested, “We’ve received a few letters, that’s all. They haven’t been sent directly to me so it doesn’t look like the sender knows where I live,” he shuddered slightly at the notion and thought about that third note where his outfit had been mentioned, “Maybe we should just... be aware of the situation for now...”

Miami frowned. “I’ve taken the liberty of contacting this Mr Taylor and a few other firms,” he informed them. “I’ve enquired about the cost of hiring a close protection operative. If it is at all possible I’d like to hire this Mr Taylor. Of course, he may not agree to work for us – my understanding is that he is so highly regarded he can pick and choose his clients.”

“I don’t suppose you’re related to him, Rog?” John asked, “Maybe he would reduce his fees!”

“I don’t think so,” Roger smiled but smiling was an effort. “Could I afford to pay him myself? This shouldn’t be an expense for the band.”

“Nonsense, dear,” Freddie cried, “You are being targeted because you are a member of Queen. Of course it’s an expense for the band!” 

“Let’s see what the cost is first,” John muttered. He ran his hand through his hair as Freddie glowered at him. “Fred, we might not be able to afford this,” he sighed, adding, “I’m sorry, Rog.”

Miami bit his lip and wondered if he ought to offer to pay out of his own resources. He still had clients other than the band. He certainly had more disposable income than them. Should he offer to help? He thought it might be prudent to wait and see what the cost would be first, as John had suggested, before getting their hopes up and then possibly having to dash them if the expenditure was going to be more than any of them could afford.

Roger seemed to have come to the same conclusion. “We’ll wait and see what the cost will be,” he said decisively. 

*

Crystal’s contact at the Security Industry Authority had tipped him off about a discreet enquiry they had received from the manager of a rock band about a close protection job for one of the band members. Only the manager’s details had been provided but it was easy to work out that the band was Queen. That didn’t mean a great deal to Crystal whose musical taste leaned more toward Mozart than anything more modern. 

From some cursory research he didn’t think the band would have a huge amount of money at the present moment. Crystal knew people who had worked for groups in similar situations – beset by legal problems and haemorrhaging money. This lot were in the process of sacking their greedy management company. It didn’t sound like a lucrative job.

“And it’s just one member of the band who needs protection?” he asked.

His contact had confirmed that the disturbing anonymous notes received by the band’s manager had made specific troubling remarks about their drummer. Crystal reflected that with their legal and almost certainly financial issues the drummer had picked a bad time to attract a stalker. He thanked his informant and ended the call.

Crystal curled up in his chair and sipped some whisky. His contact always recommended him for close protection work so he was fairly confident he would be approached about this case.

His last job had been long and difficult and had not ended as expected but it had been extremely lucrative. A budding rock star with a stalker might be just what he needed to get back into the swing of things. Like getting back onto a horse you’d been thrown from. Perhaps he had been licking his wounds for too long.

A blue silk tie and a brightly coloured rug flitted through his mind as he reached for his phone and searched for the band. There was no harm in looking, he told himself. He supposed that was what the stalkers told themselves when they started out. 

The drummer needed a security team, of course. Effective protection against a stalker would be challenging even with a team. Crystal thought of a colourful rug splattered with blood. 

The band almost certainly wouldn’t be able to afford a team.

He doubted the band would be able to afford him.

However, he had worked for a reduced fee before when a job interested him. And if he didn’t take the job they would probably only be able to afford someone from the cheaper end of the market which would almost certainly result in a poor standard of protection. That was their problem of course. He looked at the picture of the drummer that had appeared on his phone screen. He looked sweet. Could he abandon someone with such a sweet smile to a substandard level of protection?

A little voice in his head cautioned him that stalkers were notoriously difficult to predict. He closed his eyes for a moment and saw a blue silk tie, an expensive suit, a colourful rug. The greatest threat was a kidnapping attempt and ninety percent of kidnapping attempts were successful. It would be a very hard job to do well alone.

He looked into the blue eyes of this Roger Taylor who had attracted the wrong sort of attention. It would be a challenge to keep him safe. He gulped down the remainder of his whisky and called his police contact. He would like an indication of what the disturbing anonymous notes said.

*

Miami had sent enquiries to three close protection operatives. The first two had responded almost immediately to say that really they would need to put a close protection team in place for Roger’s safety. They had included price lists for teams and also for single operatives which were well beyond the band’s budget and would have been almost impossible for Miami.

He had almost given up hope of hearing from Christopher Taylor at Crystal Security Services, assuming the prospective job was beneath his consideration, so he was happily surprised to receive an email from him requesting a meeting. The price list included looked much more reasonable than Miami had expected.

Miami replied asking when would be convenient for Crystal to meet them. He received a reply immediately which said: I’ll give you the first security lesson for free – if you are arranging a meeting, especially with someone you don’t know, you should choose the date, time and venue yourself.

Miami had responded thanking Crystal and requesting a meeting the following day at ten a.m. at his office. He sent messages to the band to ask them to attend and sat back in his chair smiling and feeling hopeful for the first time since he had received the original note.

*

Crystal had not been surprised the notes had disturbed the band. His police contact had managed to get pictures of them for him. They certainly implied that Roger, at least, was being watched. That was troubling. Roger really needed a security team. A team would be expensive though.

He sent a reply to Mr Beach’s email with a price list he thought they might manage. Then he began to research the band in earnest. 

He could see why someone was fixated on Roger’s ethereal beauty. Pretty boy, the notes had said, it had been a recurring theme. Roger looked sweet. Crystal had high hopes that he would be a nice obedient client who would strictly follow Crystal’s rules. Drummers were presumably shy retiring types who wanted to hide behind their drum kits. 

Most of Crystal’s clients were older and richer and considerably less attractive than Roger. It would be no hardship to watch Roger’s back (especially his cute little bum). He told himself sternly that he would obey his own first rule: do not get too emotionally attached to the client.

*

Crystal had arrived early for the meeting. He had wanted to meet Mr Beach before he met the band. He liked the man straight away. He was sensible and intelligent. “I thought your fees would be higher, Mr Taylor.”

“Please call me Crystal, Mr Beach. Usually my fees are higher but the job appealed to me so I adjusted them. I assume the band can’t afford more.”

“Please call me Miami. Your assumption is correct, they can’t afford more. May I ask what appealed to you?”

“This job will be a challenge and I like a challenge.”

“Well, I’m very glad you agreed to take the job.” Miami looked up, hearing voices in the corridor. “That’ll be the boys now.”

*

Miami stood up and Crystal moved to his side. He recognised them all now, of course. Brian entered first, the guitarist. He was shockingly thin. He had been ill, Crystal recalled. He was followed by Freddie, who had featured most prominently in interviews and was such a captivating presence on stage. John entered next. Crystal felt he still didn’t know all that much about John despite his extensive research. He didn’t feature much in interviews.

Roger entered last. It would have been easy to separate him from the group, Crystal thought. He was vulnerable. He could be whisked away. He closed the office door after him and hugged Miami. He aimed a smile at Crystal. “Hi,” he said.

The rest of the band had drifted onto the assortment of comfortable chairs. “This is Mr Christopher Taylor,” Miami told them. “He has agreed to be Roger’s bodyguard.”

“Call me Crystal, please,” Crystal requested, taking a seat. Roger flopped onto a small sofa and Miami joined him.

“Can we afford him?” John asked, glancing at Miami, who nodded. John frowned.

“Crystal has reduced his fee for us,” Miami elaborated.

Brian, Freddie and John said, “Why?” in sharp unison.

They almost drowned out Roger’s murmured, “Thank you.”

“Crystal thinks this will be a challenging case for him,” Miami explained.

They had queried Miami, Crystal noted, as if Miami would know Crystal’s motivations better than Crystal did. Perhaps they were correct, he thought, amused. He cleared his throat. “You really need a security team,” he informed them. He noted Roger’s smile fade.

“We can’t afford a team,” Miami told them.

Freddie frowned and leaned forward. “Why do we need a team, dear?”

“Roger appears to have attracted a stalker,” Crystal began, “and the main threat to him is a kidnapping attempt. A team would give us extra eyes and a better chance of catching the stalker while he is watching Roger. We could also have at least one person on duty constantly. However, if you can’t afford a team then it is useful to have a trained operative looking out for you.”

“And how do we know you are the best person for the job?” John snapped.

“Crystal was highly recommended,” Miami said.

Crystal thought they should have had this conversation before Miami offered him the job. “I thought you had made the decision to hire me,” he said, standing up, “but I can see you need to have a discussion...”

“No,” Miami said firmly, “I have hired you on behalf of the band.” He glared at John. “On behalf of Roger,” he stressed. “You all agreed to allow me to handle this. It is too late now to want to take control of the hiring process yourself.”

Crystal remained on his feet. “There are others who do this work if you don’t want to hire me. If you decide not to hire anyone then I am happy to give you some tips to help keep you safe,” he glanced at Roger, who looked worried. “I would strongly advise you to hire someone. Stalkers can be very unpredictable.”

Freddie and Brian were aiming questioning looks at John, who sighed. “I’m sorry, Mr Taylor, I meant no offence. Please sit down.”

Crystal gave him a curt nod and resumed his seat. “Now, dear,” Freddie leaned towards him, “you were telling us how unsuited you are to this job?”

Crystal laughed. He waved his hand at them. “Consider yourselves Roger’s protection team.” He looked at each of them in turn, forcing them to meet his eyes. His eyes locked on to Roger’s big blue eyes last. “I have two main rules which I require you to obey. The first rule is that I expect you to do as I tell you immediately and without question. The second rule is that I expect you to be completely honest with me about anything that might have an impact on your safety. For example, if you’ve sprained your ankle and you might have difficulty moving quickly I need to know. Anything that might compromise your safety, however small or insignificant it seems, I want to know about it. Do you agree to obey my rules?”

“It’s like a marriage vow,” Freddie breathed, clasping his hands together, “how lovely!”

“Um... Yes...” Roger nodded. He glanced at Freddie and his face lit up. They both giggled as Roger added, with mock solemnity, “I do!”

Crystal had to make a real effort to avoid rolling his eyes. Eye-rolling was unprofessional. He aimed a stern look at Roger instead, widening it to include Freddie. It was the same look he gave to photographers who were trying to get too close to his more famous clients. Freddie looked away. Roger mumbled, “Sorry, Crystal,” and looked chastened. 

“Following my rules are essential to give me the best chance of keeping you safe,” Crystal said, in order to hammer the point home, knowing he was being slightly ridiculous.

“Yes, Sir,” Roger grinned, giving him a sloppy salute.

Crystal glared at him. The little shit wouldn’t be so cocky if... A blue silk tie, an expensive suit, a colourful rug invaded his mind. He counted down from ten silently in his head. “There are also some general rules I’d like you all to pay attention to, please.”

*

Miami listened intently. He should be taking notes, he thought. He was pleased to see that the band appeared to be paying attention too. He had been concerned that Crystal might have formed the impression that Roger and Freddie were not taking him seriously. Miami actually thought Roger was more upset by the whole thing than he seemed. At least even Roger should be able to follow two rules, he reflected, although one of the rules was effectively to do as you were told and therefore not one of Roger’s strong points.

Crystal was asking if they had any public appearances lined up and looked relieved when he was told they did not. “We’ve just finished recording an album,” Brian explained, “so we’re actually taking a break right now and then we will start rehearsals for our next tour.”

“Good,” Crystal nodded. “It’s best if Roger has no predictable routine right now.” He glanced at Roger. “Do you have a car?”

Roger flushed and the others looked amused. “It burst into flames,” Roger mumbled. “I haven’t replaced it yet.”

Crystal nodded. “Ideally we need to use different vehicles where possible but we will use my car, I think, since you don’t have one at present.”

“Don’t let him drive,” Brian warned him, “something always seems to go wrong.”

John nodded in agreement. “Roger loves cars,” he told Crystal, “he wrote a song about loving them, but they don’t seem to love him.”

“Fuck both of you,” Roger said sweetly.

Brian rolled his eyes and John snorted.

Miami cleared his throat. “Please continue, Crystal,” he said, shooting warning looks at the band. A thought occurred to him. “Will you be staying with Roger?”

Roger looked surprised, Miami thought. “That would be best,” Crystal said, “if it’s possible?”

Roger nodded, wide-eyed. “Uh... Yeah...”

“God help you,” Brian muttered, earning a glare from Roger.

Crystal was staring at them with an expression Miami couldn’t fathom. Miami frowned at the band, hoping they would take the hint. 

“I’ll give you all my phone number,” Crystal said. “Roger, I’d like to be able to track your phone, please.”

Roger’s mouth formed a little ‘o’ of surprise. “Is that really necessary?” he asked.

“The biggest threat to you is a kidnapping attempt,” Crystal reminded him. “If you were kidnapped and still in possession of your phone then we could trace you.”

“But you’re going to prevent any kidnapping attempt succeeding, aren’t you?” Freddie queried.

“That is, after all, the whole point of you,” John added sharply.

*

He knew that they were simply worried about their friend. He counted down from ten in his head again, ignoring the little voice telling him that ninety percent of attempted kidnappings succeeded. “That is my role, here, yes,” Crystal agreed, “however as we have established this is going to be a challenge for one person. As a precaution I would like to place a tracking app on your phone.” The chances of a kidnapper allowing Roger to keep his phone were astronomically small but sometimes finding the last location of the phone was helpful. 

“Okay,” Roger agreed, “I mean, you’re going to be with me all the time anyway, aren’t you?”

Crystal thought he sounded slightly anxious although he was unsure whether Roger wanted constant company or was dreading it. He nodded, “Pretty much,” he agreed. “I know this might seem intrusive,” he said, glancing round at all of them, “but it is my job to assess what risks Roger is likely to face and to prepare for those. I’ll try to cause the least possible amount of disruption to your daily lives but it is inevitable that some changes will be required.”

He took a deep breath. Clients didn’t usually take the next instruction well. Although he felt the band might take it better than most. “I’d like all of you to be as unpredictable as you possibly can. Leave your houses at different times each day. Vary your routines by a matter of hours, not just minutes. Use alternative routes.”

“Freddie, do you do this anyway?” John asked, “Is that why you are constantly late by hours?”

“Very amusing, dear,” Freddie stuck his tongue out at John, “I shall excel at being unpredictable!”

Crystal looked at Miami, “You might find it harder to alter your routine,” he noted.

Miami nodded, “By hours?”

“Yeah,” Crystal nodded, “because it’s easy to wait ten minutes to follow someone, y’ know? Less easy if you have varied your routine by hours.” Crystal gave him an encouraging smile. “I know this is hard. There is a reason you have your routine. It’s convenient for you. And it is Roger the notes mention, of course. However, all of the notes have been delivered here. I think we need to assume that whoever is sending them already has some idea of your daily routine.”

Miami nodded. “I see.” He gave a surprised little huff as Roger flung his arms around him.

“Promise you’ll try,” Roger requested.

Miami gently extracted himself from Roger’s embrace. “I’ll do my best, Rog.”

He might have been right about Roger being sweet, Crystal thought, but he was no longer so sure his previous hopes of Roger being obedient and shy were going to prove accurate.

*

The band had a photo-shoot scheduled for that afternoon. “We could cancel,” John suggested, sounding hopeful.

“Nonsense, darling,” Freddie exclaimed “why would we do that? Crystal will be protecting Roggie. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

“Crystal might not want to... erm...” John mumbled.

“You won’t even know I’m there,” Crystal assured them.

Crystal drove them to the studio where the photo-shoot was being held. There was no time to plan various routes or assess the risks of each possibility which made Crystal feel uneasy. He had at least been able to call and confirm they had a car park.

“When you enter the car your bottom should hit the seat first,” he instructed them. “That way, if I need to drive off suddenly, all you have to do is draw your feet up inside the car and you won’t be left sprawled on the pavement.” He sighed inwardly as Roger ignored this and clambered feet first into the back seat, planting himself in the middle.

“Like this, Rog,” Brian smirked, placing his bony arse on the front passenger seat and pulling his long legs in after him.

“Yeah, like that,” Crystal confirmed, feeling almost impossibly weary considering they hadn’t actually gone anywhere yet.

“Do it properly, Rog,” John mocked, swinging himself in next to Roger.

“Yes, do at least try, dear,” Freddie murmured, settling himself gracefully on the other side of Roger, who stuck his tongue out at him.

Most of Crystal’s clients were middle-aged men who either took their safety extremely seriously or regarded Crystal as a necessary evil. By comparison the band seemed like overgrown children. He was not sure if it would be advantageous or dangerous.

Roger maintained a steady stream of chatter as Crystal slowly manoeuvred the car through heavy traffic. “What do you think they’re building there, an office block? I suppose it’s always an office block. Ooh, look at that woman’s hat! Do you think that would suit me? Aw, is that a Chihuahua? It’s so sweet.” He also seemed to constantly move, fingers tapping on the arm-rest, foot tapping on the floor, leaning forward to see past John or Freddie.

At least Roger noticed things, Crystal supposed. He was aware of his surroundings. Brian and John were both engrossed in their phones and Freddie was staring out of the window with a distant, dreamy expression on his face, as if he was somewhere else entirely.

When Crystal had first heard the statistic that ninety-five percent of people spent ninety-five percent of their time completely unaware of anything around them and utterly unprepared should anything happen, he had considered it greatly exaggerated. Then, when he started to spend his days actively watching people, he realised it might be a serious under-estimate.

“Stay in the car until I open the passenger doors, please,” Crystal instructed them as he parked outside a non-descript one-storey cube of a building on a small industrial estate. He loped around the car and released the boys. Once he had locked he car he stayed close to Roger as they entered the building.

Inside, it was much nicer with a tastefully decorated reception area. A lady with flawless make-up smiled. “You must be Queen. Have a seat, please. Claude will be with you shortly. Can I get you tea, coffee, champagne?”

The band had champagne. Crystal declined all offers of refreshment. He checked routes from the industrial estate to each band member’s address on his phone. 

A man with a mane of pastel-coloured striped hair approached. He was slender, with a prominent nose and was dressed all in black and cried, “Darlings, how wonderful to see you!”

The band stood up and everyone hugged and kissed the newcomer. Crystal stood back a little but the new arrival, Claude, he had gathered, reached over and squeezed his arm. “Such fabulous muscles, dearie!” he trilled, “I’d love to take some shots of you.”

Freddie laughed. “Crystal is off-limits Claude, dear. He’s our bodyguard.”

Crystal was glad that at least Freddie had not said he was Roger’s bodyguard. He made a mental note to ask them to be vague about his role. He could be an assistant. He felt slightly out of his depth here. He normally attended meetings with dull businessmen where he melted quietly into the background with a plethora of other aides and assistants.

He reminded himself he had been in this gaudy showbiz world before. Then a blue silk tie, an expensive suit and a colourful rug entered his head. His last job had been different too. His last job had not ended as expected. Perhaps this job had too many similarities. Maybe this had not been a smart move.

“Pity,” Claude sighed, looking Crystal up and down. “Well, my loves, let’s get you to Poppy! She’ll sort your hair and make-up. You still want to go with the topless shots, don’t you?” He began to move without waiting for a reply. They all followed him down a corridor. He flung open a door to the left, crying, “Pops, angel, meet Queen!”

Poppy was a motherly woman Crystal thought might be in her late forties or perhaps early fifties. She was not exactly what he had been expecting after seeing the receptionist and Claude. She immediately set everyone at ease. “Come along in, and sit yourselves down,” she invited them.

The room resembled a cosier version of a hairdressers and Crystal found watching the band getting their hair and make-up done to be more fascinating than he had expected. They removed their shirts and t-shirts for her. “You’re going to be topless, aren’t you? Anyone got any tattoos or marks they’d like covered up? Perhaps some shimmering body oil...”

Eventually, once they had been prepared, they all trooped through to a large room with an array of lights and screens. There was a rug in the centre of the floor with old-fashioned suitcases and trunks arranged in a heap in the centre. 

Crystal settled down to wait in a corner out of the way. He watched as the band clambered on to the luggage heap. Claude stood back and shouted instructions to them. “Stand at the back, Brian, thank you lovely, and maybe this side for you, John. You perch in the centre, Roggie, love, and you here, Freddie... Hmm... Yes, let’s try that...”

The band seemed entirely unselfconscious about being topless, laughing and elbowing each other out of the way as they arranged themselves. Crystal wondered if John was slightly uneasy about this, recalling how keen he had been to call the whole thing off earlier. It was an odd thing to do for a living, he thought, although he supposed this was an additional task, not the main job. Did they regard it as an office worker might look at a pile of filing to be put away?

Claude took a series of pictures, shouting at the band to move their arms or legs or tilt their heads. “Chin up, Freddie, sweetie, that’s it... Lift your hand just a little higher, John, thanks.” He halted and shook his head. “Roger, darling, the waistband of your jeans keeps creeping into shot, would you mind whipping your jeans off?”

Roger looked uncomfortable. Crystal noted the way he shot a slightly panicky wide-eyed look at Freddie. “We’ve all seen you in your knickers before, dear,” Freddie pointed out, “You can do that, can’t you? So Claude can get a decent shot?”

Roger climbed down from his perch and wriggled out of his jeans, placing them on a chair at the side of the room. He folded his arms around his skinny chest, clearly feeling self-conscious now that he was clad only in a pair of orange underpants which looked lacy. “Thank you so much, darling,” Claude cooed, “you’re so pretty,” he added, tucking a lock of hair behind Roger’s ear.

Crystal wondered how well the band knew Claude. Was it Crystal’s imagination or had Roger looked slightly uneasy when Claude had called him pretty? Claude wanting Roger to reveal more of his body than the rest of the band was ringing alarm bells with Crystal. Although alarm bells of a different kind were ringing as Crystal reluctantly acknowledged that he was very much enjoying seeing Roger in only a pair of colourful lacy knickers. He reminded himself of his first rule: don’t get too emotionally attached or close to the client. He told himself firmly that meant he could not lust after the client, no matter how delicious they looked.

Normally this was an easy rule to stick to. The middle-aged businessmen he usually looked after did not attract Crystal the way Roger did. Sometimes he liked the captains of industry who hired him but often their charm was very superficial. The blue silk tie and expensive suit flitted through his mind. The colourful rug had included the same orange shade of Roger’s knickers. He reminded himself that Roger was a hyper-active child.

Brian whistled as Roger resumed his perch and Roger muttered something Crystal couldn’t hear. Roger now looked distinctly uncomfortable and Crystal felt sorry for him. He wondered what Roger’s little tummy would feel like and forced himself to stop thinking about squishing it.

“Perfect, sweetie, thank you,” Claude called, “Now, John, if you could just tilt your head a fraction towards Roger... a little more... Divine!”

The band was very cooperative with the photographer, Crystal reflected. He supposed they were paying for the session and wanted to get their money’s worth. Would they be as obedient for him? Would they consider paying for his services in the same way? He thought they would certainly expect their money’s worth from him.

Although the photo session was more interesting than any business meeting Crystal had attended he was bored well before it was time to leave. As they departed, Claude tucked a business card into the top pocket of Crystal’s shirt. “I’d love to shoot you, sweetie,” he had cooed. Crystal had blinked at him stupidly for a moment. “Let me know if you’d like to try modelling,” Claude had added before swinging round and strutting away, calling, “Ciao!” over his shoulder. 

He was pleased to see that each band member plonked their bum onto the car seats first, as instructed. Roger was in the middle again and Crystal noted Freddie giving Roger a quick hug as he entered the car. Nothing in his research had suggested they were anything more than friends but he wondered if they were a couple. They seemed very close. He ignored the little pang of disappointment he felt at the idea that Roger might not be single. Whether Roger was single or not was immaterial to him: he had a strict rule about not dating clients, about not getting too emotionally attached to them and he was going to obey that no matter how attractive Roger was.

Crystal allowed Brian to punch their addresses into his sat-nav although he had already memorised each address and the best routes to take to get them all home. He listened to them chat. Brian was going to cook for his pregnant wife. John was looking forward to his small son’s bedtime routine. Freddie had a date.

“Still seeing the hairdresser?” Brian asked and Freddie confirmed he was.

“It’s going well,” Freddie told them, flushing, “I really like him.”

“What are you wearing?” Roger asked and the conversation moved on to Freddie’s outfit options.

He dropped Brian off first outside a nice block of flats. He deposited John in front of a terraced house and then left Freddie at another posh block of flats. Roger was left alone in the centre of the back seat, looking a little nervous. He wound a lock of bright hair around his index finger. “Um... My place might be a bit of a mess,” Roger muttered, “I wasn’t expecting company...”

Crystal grinned. “Don’t worry about it,” he told Roger. He turned the car onto the residential street Roger lived on. Terraced houses with tiny front gardens and cars parked on either side of the street, forcing Crystal to creep along in the middle of road.

“I’m right at the end,” Roger informed him.

Crystal was pleasantly surprised to find Roger’s house stood alone at the corner of the street. There was a cafe opposite occupying the same position. He swung the car into the small driveway, which was a welcome bonus, and came to a halt. “Stay in the car with the door locked until I open your door,” Crystal ordered him. Roger nodded.

Crystal frowned in the direction of the cafe. It would be ridiculously easy to watch Roger. He glanced around. The property was surrounded by a low brick wall with pointed metal spikes embedded in it at intervals to deter those who wanted to sit on it. There was no gate. The small front garden was all paved, forming the driveway his Range Rover was now filling. A tree which was actually planted in the broad pavement cast some shade over the front garden. He moved around the car and opened the door for Roger. 

Crystal was pleased and slightly surprised to see that Roger already had his door-keys in his hand as he approached the front door. He nodded at the keys. “That’s a good habit – having your keys ready.”

Roger looked very serious. “An ex taught me that. You can use them as a weapon.”

*

Roger unlocked his front door. He felt Crystal was watching his every move. He thought of Sally fishing her keys out of her roomy handbag on the bus and recommending kneeing attackers in the groin and aiming for their faces with the keys. “Go for the eyes,” she had advised him cheerfully. Roger had never been sure if he would be able to do that deliberately to another human being even if he was in an unequal and hostile struggle with them. He’d been in fights before but never anything too serious, scuffles really. Even then his instinct was always to try to talk his way out of trouble first. Would Crystal consider him weak?

Of course he would. Roger felt his cheeks heat up as he recalled Claude admiring Crystal’s impressively muscular arms and thought of Crystal’s cool gaze when he had been parading his own puny body for the camera. He looked weak and he was weak.

He paused and scooped up some flyers for takeaways and a bill from the doormat. He was very aware of Crystal, close behind him. “I’d like you to get into the habit of entering the house then immediately closing and locking the door behind you,” Crystal told him. 

So that was another thing he had done wrong, Roger thought. He felt the ball of anxiety that had taken up permanent residence in his stomach threaten to expand and overwhelm him. Crystal was standing to the side looking expectantly at him and Roger realised Crystal was waiting for him to close and lock the door which he did with embarrassingly shaky hands. “Kidnapping,” he blurted out, clutching the post to his chest with sweaty hands, “is that...? I...” He was not entirely sure what he was trying to say although he was aware that the message he was almost certainly conveying was that he was terrified.

“Why don’t you show me around,” Crystal suggested in the sort of soothing tone you might use if you were trying to comfort a frightened infant or startled cat, “and then we can have a nice cup of tea and a chat.” Crystal must think he was an utter fool, Roger thought unhappily.

He set the post down on the hall table and nodded. “Um... Yeah, well, this is the hall... Er... This is the coat cupboard,” he opened the door of the coat cupboard and Crystal hung his jacket next to Roger’s. Roger led him down the hall. “Sitting-room,” he said, gesturing to his left, “and the kitchen is straight on. There’s a little loo just here...” He set off up the stairs, pausing on the little landing. “The main bathroom is just here... This,” he swung a door open, “is my music room and this is the bedroom which has an en-suite bathroom, too.”

Crystal had a quick look in each room as Roger pointed it out and Roger was horribly aware of discarded jumpers, used mugs left lying about, abandoned newspapers. There were clothes all over his un-made bed. “Sorry... I... um... I couldn’t decide what to wear today...” Great, now Crystal would think he was a shallow, vain, idiot rather than just an idiot. He began to frantically replace shirts on coat-hangers and put them back in the wardrobe.

“I’ll go and get my bag from the car,” Crystal told him, “and have a little look around outside, if I may?”

Roger nodded. “Yes, of course. I’ll just tidy up a bit and put the kettle on,” he gabbled. 

*

The men who needed and could afford Crystal’s services usually lived in mansions set far back in their own well-secured grounds with an army of staff attending to their every whim, doing the cleaning, tidying and cooking for them. That posed problems, of course, mainly in checking out all the staff.

Roger’s much more welcoming home posed problems which mainly involved a lack of security. 

And Crystal wasn’t even going to think about the fact that there was only one bedroom just now.


	2. The Rules Are Made To Be Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This contains a small scuffle and mentions of a knife and blood.

The Rules Are Made To Be Broken

The low wall around Roger’s surprisingly neat garden was no barrier at all. Crystal was pleased to see thorny rose bushes beneath all of the lower windows but the kitchen-diner had French windows opening onto a terrace. There was a little balcony above the terrace which must be the master bedroom. Roger’s bedroom. 

And that was the only bedroom, Crystal’s mind helpfully noted.

He retrieved his bag from the Range Rover and re-entered the house, locking the door behind him. Roger had seemed very worried when they had arrived here. Crystal had seen that before: clients realised the situation was serious when you invaded their home, a constant reminder of potential danger.

“Hey,” Roger appeared in the kitchen doorway. He had scrubbed the make-up off his face and tied his long blond hair back from his face. He looked very young.

“Hey,” Crystal smiled and dropped his bag in the hall at the foot of the stairs.

“Tea,” Roger offered, “or I have wine...?” He bit his lip, plainly unsure of himself. Crystal thought he didn’t look old enough to be drinking alcohol.

“Tea for me, please,” he replied. “I don’t usually drink alcohol while I’m on duty.” He followed Roger into the kitchen.

He liked the kitchen. It was large and light with a comfortable seating area around a large wooden table. Roger gestured to the cushioned benches. “Have a seat,” he gave Crystal a shy smile, “make yourself at home.”

“Thanks,” Crystal slid onto a seat and looked out at the garden. “Do you do the garden yourself?”

Roger shook his head. “Freddie’s boyfriend does it. He’s a hairdresser but he likes gardening and he doesn’t have a garden of his own. He kind of came with the house – he had been doing the garden for the previous owner. Freddie met him here. He’s lovely. His name is Jim.”

Jim didn’t sound a likely candidate to be the anonymous note sender but Crystal made a mental note to check him out anyway. You could never be too careful. 

Roger set a mug of tea in front of him. He placed a plate of biscuits on the table and sat opposite Crystal cradling his own mug of tea in both hands. “Thanks,” Crystal said. Roger had made his tea just as he liked it. Crystal cleared his throat. “I have a few things I’d like to cover with you and I expect you have some questions for me.”

Roger nodded. “You go first, though,” he said.

Crystal ran through his standard questions, although he was fairly certain he already knew the answers to most of them from his research. Roger confirmed he was not on any medication and was not currently in a relationship. Crystal nodded. “Okay, Roger, I am going to ask you some things you might find intrusive but I need to know the answers so I can help you. I won’t judge you,” Crystal would totally judge him but Roger wouldn’t know because Crystal was a professional, “Do you have any addictions, such as alcohol, drugs, gambling or sex?”

Roger flushed. “No,” he shook his head, “I mean, I do drink alcohol and I... I have taken drugs...” His eyes were searching Crystal’s face. Crystal focussed on maintaining his encouraging ‘you can tell me anything’ look. “I don’t gamble very often, hardly ever, really and I... Well, I do enjoy sex,” Roger bit his lip, “but I don’t think I’m addicted to it.” He grinned. “I do smoke, although I’ve been trying to cut down so I guess I’m addicted to nicotine.”

“Thank you for your honesty,” Crystal said. A lot of his clients lied to him. He thought Roger was telling the truth but he would soon find out if he wasn’t. “So,” he continued, “my job is to keep you safe. I will try to do that without disrupting your normal life too much but I may ask you to do things you find inconvenient or annoying. I will not ask you to do anything unless I consider it necessary for your safety, okay?”

Roger nodded. He sipped his tea. “I understand,” he assured Crystal.

“Good,” Crystal nibbled on a biscuit. “If anything happens,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “then my priority will be to get you to a place of safety. I won’t be doing any heroic fighting. You ‘n’ I will be running away, okay?”

Roger nodded enthusiastically. Crystal thought he looked relieved. “What would you like to ask me?”

Roger considered this, sipping his tea. “Is kidnapping... He... I...” He sighed. “Sorry.”

“With a stalker,” Crystal said slowly, “there are two main risks. One is kidnapping. The stalker may want to possess you.” Roger shuddered. Crystal sipped his tea. “There is also a risk that the stalker may decide that if they can’t have you then no one else can. They may try to kill you. However, it would be unusual if they went directly for that option. So the most likely risk is a kidnapping attempt. Is that what you were thinking about?”

Roger nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

“I’m here to protect you,” Crystal reminded him gently.

“Thank you for that, too,” Roger murmured. “How likely do you think it is that he will move on from just sending the notes?”

Very, Crystal thought. “It’s hard to say,” he told Roger, “stalkers are difficult to predict. There are some things I should make you aware of in case you are kidnapped.”

Roger was wide-eyed. “Um...”

“Just in case,” Crystal soothed him, thinking that ninety percent of kidnapping attempts were successful, “I’ll do my very best to prevent that from happening.”

*

They ordered pizza. “I’ll answer the door,” Crystal told Roger. “Do you have food delivered a lot?” he wondered.

Roger nodded. “I’m not much of a cook.”

Crystal frowned. The more people who knew where Roger lived and the more unknown people he had ringing his doorbell the greater the risk. “It would be useful if we could decrease food deliveries,” he informed Roger. 

“The risk of my cooking killing you might be higher,” Roger warned him.

Crystal laughed. “I’ll teach you some basics,” he offered, “if you’d like,” he added. He didn’t think Roger would be offended but he wanted to avoid getting on the wrong side of him if possible. 

Roger grinned. “Does it cost extra?” His face clouded over. 

Crystal noted that Roger was worried about the financial aspect of their relationship. “I’ll throw it in for free,” he smiled. A distant part of his mind wondered if he would work for Roger for free simply because he liked him. Crystal had never contemplated working for free before and was slightly dismayed by this development and by how much he liked Roger. He pushed the thought firmly to the back of his mind. The band could afford him so there was no need for him to work for free. And while he liked Roger he was going to firmly adhere to his rule of not becoming too emotionally attached to his client. 

Roger looked troubled. “I feel like I’m costing the band a lot of money, y’ know?” he mumbled. He was gnawing on his lower lip and looked very young.

“Your safety is important to them,” Crystal stated, then thought that sounded like the sort of recorded message you heard when you were being held in a queue trying to speak to a human in a call centre.

Roger shrugged. “I’d be easy to replace,” he said matter-of-factly. “I haven’t written any hit songs. I don’t contribute all that much. Hell, they could replace me with a drum machine. I don’t connect with people from the stage the way Freddie and Brian and even John do.”

Crystal took a chance. “Do you always whine this much?”

To his relief Roger laughed. “I insist you join my pity party!” He sighed. “Sorry, I just...” His face clouded over again. “I suppose I’ve made at least one connection from the stage.” He shivered.

*

It was Roger who broached the subject of sleeping arrangements after they’d had their pizza. “Um... I was thinking... You can have the bed and I’ll sleep down here on the sofa,” he offered, not looking at Crystal. Crystal was almost certainly accustomed to clients who had a spare room for him. Roger added another thing to his mental list of reasons Crystal would think he was inadequate.

Crystal shook his head. “That isn’t ideal,” he said. “If you are upstairs I should be too. I can sleep on the floor in the bedroom, if you will allow that?”

Roger studied Crystal wondering how he would react if he suggested sharing the bed. His cheeks felt hot. “You could... If you don’t mind...” He took a deep breath. “I don’t mind sharing the bed if... It’s a big bed...”

*

Given how attractive Crystal found Roger sharing a bed with him was a very bad idea from the point of view of strict adherence to his rule of not getting too attached to the client. From the point of view of protecting Roger it was the best solution. “Uh... Yes, okay... Thank you.”

*

Roger had grown accustomed to being alone in his house. If he needed to cry then he could curl up in his bed and howl into the pillow. Now he had Crystal, a constant scrutinising presence in his house and now, at Roger’s own insistence, in his bed.

Crystal must surely find him wanting, Roger was certain of that. He’d lost his car, couldn’t cook, didn’t know how to get into a car properly, had a puny physique, was a whiny little bitch and couldn’t even afford to pay Crystal himself. Poor Crystal, being forced to live with a talentless loser like Roger. And now, here he was, curled up rigidly on the edge of his bed trying to muffle his sobs so Crystal didn’t hear him and receive all the confirmation he could possibly need about how utterly pathetic Roger was.

*

Roger was crying. Crystal felt frozen. Should he acknowledge that Roger was crying? Should he try to offer comfort? Would that embarrass Roger? Crystal felt really awkward. 

If Roger had burst into tears at the kitchen table Crystal would have been able to offer him a hug. He could have joked about it to lighten the mood. This hug is free of charge. Now, on the other side of Roger’s bed from him, Crystal thought offering a hug was impossible.

Listening to Roger’s snuffling distress also seemed impossible.

Paralysed by indecision he did nothing.

*

Roger awakened drenched in sweat, gasping for breath. His heart was hammering in his chest. “Just a bad dream,” a voice murmured. Strong arms were holding him tightly. Roger pressed his face against the soft cotton of his companion’s t-shirt and then froze: he did not normally have a companion in bed at the moment. Then he remembered: the anonymous notes. Crystal. 

He had started out right at the other end of the bed from Crystal but now he seemed to be snuggled against him with Crystal’s arms circling him. “Sorry,” he croaked.

“No need to be sorry,” Crystal assured him. Roger felt Crystal’s hand stroke his back and was embarrassed by how sweat-soaked his t-shirt was. Crystal showed no sign of letting him go so Roger kept his head on Crystal’s chest and drifted off to sleep again.

*

Crystal wasn’t sure where he was for a moment. A blond was drooling onto his t-shirt. Then he recalled Roger. Roger crying. Roger mumbling nonsense in his sleep. Roger having a nightmare. Roger snuggling up to him and going back to sleep.

Roger made a little noise somewhere between a grunt and a moan and Crystal thought fondly that Roger was adorable. Then he felt alarmed by the fondness. He must not get emotionally attached to the client. “Good morning,” he greeted Roger softly.

Roger made a little huffing sound. Perhaps he wasn’t a morning person. Crystal decided he could very gently stroke Roger’s hair. A little voice in his head warned him that he was in trouble here. Gently stroking the client’s hair while holding the client in your arms when you were in bed with the client (however innocently) spoke of a level of intimacy that was not really in keeping with his first rule of keeping some emotional distance from the client. 

Roger shifted slightly. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I don’t seem to have kept to my side of the bed very well.”

“I don’t think I did, either,” Crystal noted and added, “Can you remember your bad dream?”

There was a short pause. “No,” Roger replied. Crystal didn’t believe him, but accusing your client of lying was not advisable.

*

They went across the road to the cafe for breakfast. Roger apparently either went to the cafe or had coffee and a cigarette for breakfast. “I suppose going to the cafe is a risk?” he asked.

Crystal shrugged. “It is,” he agreed, “but I will be with you.”

Roger wondered if he should mention the dog-walker to Crystal. The man gave him the creeps. But he was probably being stupid and Crystal must think him an absolute idiot as it was so he kept silent.

The dog-walker was probably a very nice man. He’d probably moved to the area recently with his yappy bad-tempered poodle. It was probably Roger’s imagination that he paused opposite his house every day to tie his shoelace or to allow the dog to drink from the water bowl outside the cafe or to read the specials board at the cafe. All of which were perfectly good reasons for pausing anyway. And Crystal probably thought Roger was a hysterical diva as it was. Roger did not want to give Crystal a reason to consider him completely unhinged.

He pulled his mind away from the dog-walker because Crystal was giving him instructions for walking to the cafe. Apparently it was not as simple as just leaving the house and crossing the road.

*

Roger was evidently well known in the cafe. The woman behind the counter, Daisy, was also the owner. Crystal introduced himself as a Private Investigator, looking into an attempted burglary at Roger’s house. “It occurred to me that this would be the perfect place to watch Roger’s house from,” he noted solemnly, “Have you noticed anyone or anything out of the ordinary?”

Daisy had not noticed anyone unusual or new hanging about. “Our staff meeting is at four o’clock today, though, so if you want to come back then we can ask the others too.”

“Great, thank you,” Crystal smiled at her. He noticed Roger was frantically searching his pockets. “Are you alright there, Rog?”

“I’ve forgotten my wallet,” Roger muttered. He was scarlet with embarrassment and looked like he might cry.

“I’ve got mine,” Crystal told him, “it’s not the end of the world. I can pay.” Roger continued to apologise, sounding miserable, until they both had coffee and pastries and were at a nice table in the corner allowing them both seats with their backs to the wall and giving Crystal a good view of the room. “Relax, Roger, you can pay next time.”

*

Roger hadn’t thought he could feel any stupider but now he had forgotten his wallet. Crystal must think him an utter fool. He sipped his coffee. He really wanted a cigarette now. He had been doing so well with not smoking. He sighed.

“Do you have plans for today?” Crystal asked.

Roger shook his head. He supposed he should have plans. Normal people had plans. People generally made plans for their time off.

“In that case,” Crystal said, “maybe we ought to go to the supermarket and you can have your first cooking lesson.”

Normal people could cook and didn’t forget their wallets. Normal people did not attract stalkers and require bodyguards. Roger nodded. “Okay.”

*

Roger had seemed subdued in the cafe but he perked up during their trip to the supermarket. Crystal didn’t have much experience with children (he avoided clients with children where possible as they were a massive added complication) but he suspected shopping with a hyperactive toddler would be a similar experience to shopping with Roger.

He felt he was spending a lot of his time firmly removing items from Roger’s grasp and replacing them on the shelves. Roger seemed attracted to brightly coloured packaging. Crystal held out his hand for a lurid orange and pink box Roger was now holding. “What is this?” he asked suspiciously.

Roger shrugged. “Fruit juice?” he ventured uncertainly.

Crystal put it back on the shelf. It was probably crammed full of E-numbers. He briefly contemplated an E-number fuelled Roger and failed to completely suppress a small shudder. He was starting to wonder how Roger had survived to his current age. “What do you usually eat?” he asked Roger, genuinely curious.

Roger scratched his head. “I can make toast. I don’t normally come here. I get milk ‘n’ bread from the corner shop when I’m getting cigarettes. Although I’m not smoking now,” he added virtuously. 

Crystal tried to recall what the signs of scurvy were. He thought people’s teeth and hair usually fell out and cast a surreptitious glance at Roger’s glossy blond mane. He had pretty teeth too. Crystal supposed that at least the stalker was unlikely to have followed them to this unfamiliar location. “Do you visit the corner shop at the same time every day?” he wondered, thinking that the stalker would be likely to follow Roger there.

He was relieved when Roger said no. 

*

They started with boiling an egg. Roger was a scientist, Crystal thought despairingly at one point. “You have a fucking degree, Roger, how can you not know how to boil an egg?” he blurted out, hastily adding, “Sorry, that was rude of me.”

He was surprised when Roger laughed. “Please don’t be polite! I’m much more used to being told I’ve fucked up. I’m just kinda hopeless, I guess.”

Crystal snorted. “I bet you just bat your eyelashes and people do things for you.”

“That too,” Roger grinned. He batted his eyelashes. “Will it work on you?”

“No,” Crystal lied, hoping he sounded firm enough. Roger fluttering his eyelashes would totally work on him. He must not become too emotionally attached to the client.

Life was so much easier when he didn’t like the client.

“You’re paying me,” he reminded Roger, “that was a very unprofessional way to speak to you.”

Yeah, this was a professional relationship. He was a professional. He was a professional who did not become too close to his clients. A blue silk tie and an expensive suit drifted through his mind.

“I’m not paying you to teach me how to boil an egg,” Roger pointed out, “and I would much prefer it if you were just... normal with me.”

Crystal frowned. “And your idea of normal is when people are rude to you or insult you?”

“You know what I mean,” Roger smiled, “People aren’t polite all the time, especially not friends. I expect you’re not usually living in quite such a small house with your other clients,” he added, “and I think maybe it is easier to be polite when you can live in another wing of the house or whatever, but here we are on top of each other,” he flushed, presumably realising too late how that might sound, then concluded, “so the normal rules and boundaries don’t apply to me, maybe.” He laughed. “Sorry I’m so poor! Anyway, just treat me like... I dunno... Like a friend. I won’t be offended if you tell me I’m an idiot.”

It had not really occurred to Crystal how odd this must be for Roger as well as him. He supposed it was easier for the client when they could keep their distance from the stranger in their house. He nodded, although he thought that having a less formal relationship with Roger than he usually had with a client would do nothing to help him keep his first rule. He seemed to be becoming more emotionally attached to Roger with every passing second.

*

Most of Crystal’s clients had routines. They spent a certain number of hours in offices and in meetings. They played golf. They had a person they met once a week to play tennis or badminton or squash. They spent some time with their wives and some time with their mistresses. They rarely saw their children. Their children were often adults from previous marriages and they pencilled in time to see them. These people had schedules. 

Roger had no routine. He did not set an alarm to wake him each morning at a particular time. He did spend some time playing the drums each day but not at the same time. Sometimes he spent all day in his music room. If he ran out of cigarettes he would wander along to the corner shop.

Crystal had been with him for almost a week when he asked, “Don’t you have mates you meet for drinks?” He had not expected Roger to attend the sort of dinner parties his usual clients had frequented but for a budding rock star Roger seemed to live very quietly (apart from the drumming).

Roger looked sad and Crystal immediately wished he hadn’t asked. Roger was a sunny happy person. Crystal felt like he had done something terribly wrong. 

They were sitting at the kitchen table eating scrambled eggs that had started life as an omelette which had defeated Roger. “All the people I used to hang around with kind of...” Roger waved his fork around, “drifted away, I suppose. I’d be away on tour or locked in the studio at night so...” He shrugged. “And Brimi and John have families now and Freddie,” a wistful look crossed Roger’s face, “Freddie has Jim now, so...” He ate some eggs. “I have arranged drinks with my sister,” he told Crystal, “she could get a baby-sitter next Thursday.”

Crystal nodded. “Okay. Are you meeting her somewhere or is she coming here?”

“I’ll meet her in town,” Roger told him, “Do you need to know the venue? Do you have to case the joint beforehand?”

“I wasn’t aware we were robbing anywhere,” Crystal laughed, “but it would be useful to know where we are going so I can plan a route and where to park.” He would also check escape routes and venue security but he didn’t want to spook Roger by telling him that.

“It’s like having a chauffeur,” Roger said happily.

“You could get a chauffeur much cheaper,” Crystal told him, “I’m a highly skilled operative, you know!”

“You are if you can find a parking space in central London,” Roger noted, “so I’ll reserve judgement until I see that!”

“You don’t deserve me,” Crystal told him.

Roger stuck his tongue out at him. “Admit it: I’m a million times more fun than your usual clients!”

This was true, Crystal reflected. “You’re a zillion times more of a childish pain in the arse than my usual clients.”

Roger looked uncertain, suddenly. “I’m kidding,” he assured Roger, suddenly feeling awkward. To change the subject, Crystal asked, “What time’s your meeting with Miami and the band tomorrow.” To see if there had been another note delivered. So that was awkward too. He sighed inwardly.

*

“Crystal!” Roger sounded anxious. Crystal ran downstairs and found Roger staring at a folded piece of paper on the doormat. Crystal gently moved Roger to one side and looked out of the door. The street was deserted. 

“Don’t touch it,” he cautioned Roger, who nodded jerkily. “I’ll call the police, okay?” He squeezed Roger’s shoulder. “Don’t worry.”

*

But Roger was worried. His stomach was writhing as if he had swallowed a snake. As if he had a nest of vipers within him.

The stalker knew where he lived. 

He followed Crystal who had wandered into the kitchen to call the police. He sidled up to Crystal, wanting those strong arms around him as they inevitably were now when he woke up in the morning.

He brushed against Crystal and almost wept with relief when Crystal put his arm around his shoulders. He looked questioningly at Crystal as he ended the call. “They’re going to send someone to get the note,” Crystal said. “I’d like to see what it says first, though. Do you mind if I put gloves on and take a look?”

Roger was not sure if he wanted to know or not but he nodded.

*

Crystal had taken a photo of the note on his phone which the rest of the band and Miami were passing from hand to hand. Miami handed Crystal his phone back in silence. 

Roger had chosen to sit next to Freddie and was now being embraced by him. Crystal was glad Roger was receiving a hug – the note had clearly shaken him.

“Do you have a camera at the door?” Brian asked.

“Yeah,” Crystal answered for Roger, “but the note was delivered at night by a person of average height and build wearing dark clothes and with a hood obscuring their face. They wore gloves. The police have the footage but unless they can track a CCTV route for the person then it’s not going to be much help.”

“But you do see them doing that on programmes like ‘Crimewatch’,” Freddie noted, “They can trace the whole route the bad guys took and see them on public transport and so on.”

“He knows where Roger lives,” John pointed out softly, and, from Crystal’s point of view, not entirely helpfully considering that was what had freaked Roger out the most as far as he could tell.

“Perhaps you ought to come and stay with me, darling,” Freddie suggested to Roger, smoothing his hair.

Crystal shook his head. “He is safer at home,” he told them. 

“He’s being watched there!” Freddie protested.

Roger pulled away from Freddie and ran his hand through his hair. “If I was with you he would be watching both of us. I’d be putting you at risk.” He gulped. “And realistically he probably always knew where I live.”

“He seems to think you’re dating Crystal,” Brian observed, looking slightly embarrassed. “Does that change anything?”

“He clearly knows Roger isn’t alone in the house,” Crystal noted, “which is good. However, he seems upset that Roger, as he sees it, has someone. That may be what has caused him to alter his behaviour and leave the latest note at Roger’s house.” He did not add it may also prompt a more serious escalation and lead to a kidnapping attempt. He thought of the wording on the note: I see you have a lover you pretty little slut. You belong to me. I will come and get you.

His presence had increased the threat towards Roger. Yet Crystal also knew this had almost certainly only been a matter of time. The stalker might have escalated sooner because of Crystal but this had always been likely.

“I’m glad we hired you,” Miami said, looking very serious. 

Crystal considered his rules: don’t get too attached to the client and do your best to keep the client safe. 

Before his previous job Crystal’s second rule had simply been ‘keep the client safe’. Crystal looked at Miami and felt a fraud. All he could hope for was that his best efforts would keep Roger safe. He had once thought he was unbeatable, invincible. How wrong he had been. He thought of blood on a brightly coloured rug, a blue silk tie and an expensive suit. Once upon a time he had always managed to keep the client from harm. Now, he made no guarantees, although he desperately wanted to for Roger.

He reminded himself that if he had not taken this job Roger would have been left seeking protection from some third-rate moonlighting club doorman with a different security skill-set. He could do better than that, surely?

Freddie cleared his throat. “Crystal, dear, would you mind stepping outside for a moment? And you too Miami, darling, just so we can have a quick band meeting?”

Crystal did mind but obediently followed Miami out of the office. Miami was being banished from his own office, he realised. Miami gestured to the comfortable seats for visitors to wait in. “Have a seat. Would you like tea or coffee?”

Crystal shook his head. He chose a seat where he could view all of the possible entrances and exits. “Are they discussing whether to keep me or not?” he wondered.

“I think they believe Roger will be more forthcoming about how he feels if only they are present,” Miami said, adding, “We are keeping you.”

“Is that your decision to make?” Crystal wondered.

“Ultimately, it is Roger’s decision,” Miami smiled, “but I suspect Roger would have been quite comfortable talking with you in the room so I am sure he will want to keep you too.”

*

Roger blinked, looking confused. “Band meeting?” he queried, snuggling against Freddie again.

“Are you okay, darling?” Freddie asked.

“Uh... Well... The note was a shock but... yeah...”

“Is it working out with Crystal?” Brian wanted to know.

“If it isn’t,” John told him, “then we can find more money if you want to hire someone else.”

Roger seriously doubted they could actually find more money. “I trust Crystal,” he told them, realising as he said it that it was true.

“He seems stern,” Freddie frowned, “Is he bossing you about, dear?”

Roger laughed. They were, he realised, genuinely concerned. “He’s mistreating me terribly,” he intoned, “but I shall bravely put up with him.”

“So you’re being a brat,” John deduced, “Poor Crystal.”

Brian frowned. “Don’t do anything that would make him leave, Roger, please.”

“He adores me,” Roger assured them, “He’s teaching me how to cook.”

They all laughed. “Tell him we can’t stretch to danger money!” John snorted.

“Darling, is he forcing you to be Cinderella in your own home?” Freddie gasped. “Is he being cruel to you?”

“At this point I’m more concerned about Crystal,” Brian muttered. “True cruelty is eating Roger’s cooking! Do try not to poison him!”

“Shut up,” Roger grumbled.

“But you are okay, dear?” Freddie checked again, once the hilarity had died down.

Roger assured them he was. And he was okay about Crystal. He was not okay about the stalker but they knew that, of course. 

*

Roger had been subdued all day. He hadn’t eaten much and he had followed Crystal around like a clingy toddler. 

Usually, when they went to bed they still started off on opposite sides of the bed and gravitated towards each other during the night. Tonight, however, after a momentary hesitation Roger shifted over to Crystal. Crystal wrapped his arms around Roger, who pressed his face against Crystal’s chest. This was the position they were normally in when they woke up. “I’m scared,” Roger confessed.

“Only an idiot wouldn’t be scared,” Crystal told him, “but I’m right here, you’ve got me.”

“Promise you won’t let anything happen to me?” Roger whispered.

Crystal’s third rule was ‘never make promises you can’t keep’.

“I promise,” Crystal said, “No one is going to hurt you.”

*

Crystal soothed Roger after a nightmare later on. Roger claimed, as he always did, that he could not recall his dream. “You’re safe,” Crystal assured him.

“He was here, Crys,” Roger whimpered, “He was right at the door. What if he comes in next time?”

Crystal’s immediate instinct was to blurt out another dodgy promise to Roger – he won’t get in. He forced himself to speak calmly. “In the unlikely event that anyone breaks into this house we will be leaving by the most convenient route. My priority will be to get you as quickly as possible to a place of safety. Okay?”

“What if we can’t get out?” Roger fretted.

“I’ve worked out all the escape routes from each room of this house,” Crystal assured him. He was relieved to find that this seemed to settle Roger down.

Crystal gently stroked Roger’s hair. He told himself he was simply comforting Roger. He might be physically close to him but he was definitely not becoming emotionally attached. He was aware of the danger of becoming attached to Roger and he was actively working against that. He had been tired and that was why he had broken his third rule about not making promises to the client. He had simply been tired and not thinking straight. It had nothing to do with wanting reassure Roger because he liked him so much. The promise had just slipped out. It had been careless of him but not caused by feelings for Roger.

It was true that he liked Roger. He had liked other clients though. He thought briefly of a blue silk tie, an expensive suit, a colourful rug. Blood. Liking Roger did not mean he was becoming too attached to him.

“Would an attack here be the most likely scenario?” Roger mumbled.

“No,” Crystal replied, glad that the statistics were on his side here. “Most kidnapping attempts occur in the morning once the target has left their house.”

And ninety percent of those kidnapping attempts were successful. But Roger didn’t need to know that.

*

It was a like a repeat of the previous day. “Crystal!” Roger screeched.

There was another note on the doormat. Roger hovered anxiously while Crystal carefully photographed it. “What does it say?” 

Crystal cleared his throat. It says, “Get rid of your ugly lover my little blond slut. You are mine.” Crystal snorted. “Well, that’s just charming! Bet he’s no oil painting himself!” He put his arm around Roger and lied to himself that he would do the same to comfort any shaken client. “Bit possessive,” he added, deliberately keeping his tone light.

“Are there going to be notes every day now?” Roger wondered, his voice wobbling.

Possibly, Crystal thought grimly. A note each day until the day arrived when notes were no longer enough and the stalker tried to abduct Roger. “Stalkers are very unpredictable,” he told Roger, hoping his tone was soothing. Despite rule three – don’t make promises you can’t keep – screeching through his head, he could not help but add, “I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.”

Who said it was a promise he couldn’t keep, anyway?

*

They had an unscheduled meeting at Miami’s office late in the afternoon to discuss the new note. Miami drew Crystal aside. “Is he safe at home?” he asked worriedly. “Should we move him to a hotel or somewhere else?”

“He is safer at home than he would be in a hotel or rented accommodation. I’m with him. He is as safe as possible,” Crystal assured him.

Crystal asked if any of the others had noticed anything unusual. No one had.

*

Roger thought of the dog-walker again but dismissed the thought. He could not accuse some harmless old man however yappy his poodle was.

As they trooped out of Miami’s office Brian almost knocked over the man from the mail room who was collecting post from Miami’s secretary. Brian apologised profusely. The man seemed embarrassed.

There was something familiar about the man from the mail room Roger thought. He couldn’t see his face, the man was speaking to Miami’s secretary, but something about the way he was standing was ringing a bell somewhere in Roger’s mind. He’d probably just seen him around here before, although Roger couldn’t recall seeing anyone picking up mail on any of his other visits to the office. He told himself he was becoming paranoid. Then he shivered as he realised someone was actually out to get him.

“I’ve booked a prospective tour rehearsal hall,” Miami told them. “It’s on the same industrial estate Claude the photographer works from. The hall is available for you to view on Friday from ten a.m. I’ll meet you there with the keys, okay?” As the mail-man moved away from his secretary’s desk, Miami called across to her, “What’s the address of that industrial unit for the band, please?”

*

Crystal noted the address as Miami’s secretary reeled it off. He’d need to check routes although it was useful that it was near to a location they had already visited.

He gently clasped Roger’s shoulder, asking him, “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Roger nodded.

Roger was very quiet again for the rest of the day. He snuggled against Crystal in bed again. Crystal wrapped his arms around him. Neither of them spoke and Roger fell asleep with his head resting on Crystal’s chest.

He awakened to Roger screaming, in the grip of a nightmare. “Rog? You’re safe. You’re safe.”

Roger woke up, gasping for breath. “You’re safe,” Crystal repeated. 

“No,” Roger whimpered, “Whatifhe’sdownthererightnow?” he gabbled.

“We’re safe here,” Crystal soothed him. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.” And he really had to stop saying things like that. An image of body in a crumpled heap on an expensive colourful rug flitted through his mind. Never make promises you can’t keep.

Roger had seemed on the verge of a panic attack and that was the only reason Crystal had used those reassuring words. He stroked Roger’s hair. A critical little voice in his head asked if he would do that to any client to soothe them. 

“If he got in...” Roger gulped, “If we had to leave...”

“We would get in the car and we would go somewhere nice and safe,” Crystal told him.

Roger snorted. “Disabling the car would be the first thing anyone would do!”

Crystal laughed. “Well, they might try,” he agreed, “but the car’s pretty heavily modified.”

“Modified?” Roger echoed.

Crystal began to murmur a list of the modifications that had been made to the Range Rover: a night vision system, an auxiliary fuel tank, some armour plating located mainly around the fuel tanks, tyres that would still enable the car to move even if they had been shredded. By the time he had reached the one-way bullet resistant glass Roger had drifted off to sleep again.

*

There was no note waiting for them on Wednesday. Crystal took a much happier Roger to the supermarket again to get the ingredients for a vegetable stew. “I can have Brian round for dinner now,” he told Crystal.

“Yeah, and all this will be useful for your stint on ‘Celebrity Masterchef’ in a few years,” Crystal laughed.

Roger whacked his arm with a carrot. “I’m going to be super famous! I won’t be on ‘Celebrity Masterchef!”

Crystal pulled a doubtful face. “I dunno if they’ll consider you for ‘I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here’,” he told Roger, “they’d be too worried you’d die of fright!”

Roger halted, poised over a crate of loose onions. Crystal frowned, wondering why his light-hearted comment seemed to have missed the mark. “How many onions do we need?” Roger asked in a too-bright voice.

“Just one,” Crystal replied, “I don’t like too much onion.” He hesitated before adding, “I didn’t mean to upset you...”

“Upset me?” Roger adopted a bemused look. “I’m fine.”

He clearly wasn’t fine. Crystal didn’t push it though. They continued shopping in a slightly uncomfortable silence.

*

There was no note on Thursday morning either. “Perhaps he’s given up,” Roger suggested happily.

“Perhaps,” Crystal said, “but we still need to be vigilant.”

Crystal clearly didn’t think the stalker had given up. Roger sighed. He cheered himself up with the prospect of seeing Clare later. Then he realised Crystal would be with them. He could not pour out his feelings to Clare with Crystal present.

Crystal thought he was useless, Roger knew it. He thought of their conversation in the supermarket the previous day. Evidently Crystal regarded him as being fit only for something like ‘Celebrity Flower Arranging’.

Crystal’s presence in the pub would also mean Roger could not confide to Clare how attractive he found Crystal. Lost in thoughts of Crystal’s muscles Roger burnt the toast, providing further evidence for Crystal that Roger was a useless idiot.

*

“I can melt into the background,” Crystal offered as he drove Roger to meet his sister.

Roger shook his head, “Clare’s dying to meet you,” he grinned.

Crystal felt a little flutter of anxiety. He told himself it was because his client was going out at a time when his stalker was more active than usual. He was not at all nervous about meeting Clare. Roger was merely his client. Crystal hoped Roger’s sister would like him, of course, but he did not require the approval of the client’s family to carry out his job. He did not want to make a good impression on Clare because he liked Roger. He was sticking firmly to his main rule – do not get too emotionally attached to the client. 

Roger stayed obediently in the car while Crystal unlocked the padlock attached to the chain securing a private parking spot in an alley close to the pub they were meeting Clare at. “Impressive,” Roger had remarked, amused, as Crystal neatly reversed into the space.

“I told you that you didn’t deserve me,” Crystal smirked.

Clare had arrived first and secured a table and a bottle of wine. To Crystal’s relief she had chosen a good table for security purposes. He had a clear view of the room and the entrances and exits. The bottle or the glasses could potentially be used as weapons if required. 

Roger introduced them and Clare hugged him, her flowery scent enveloping him. She looked like a more delicate version of Roger, although her hug indicated that she was stronger than she appeared at first. “Pleased to meet you,” Crystal said.

“I’m delighted to meet you too! Roger’s been raving about you!” she laughed, aiming a wicked grin at Roger, who rolled his eyes.

“Just ignore her,” Roger advised him.

“That’s not very nice,” Clare objected, “Wine, Mr Taylor?”

“Please call me Crystal and no, thanks, I’m driving.” He waved away her offers of soft drinks or water.

“So,” Clare leaned over and ruffled Roger’s hair, “you’ve attracted a stalker?” She poured glasses of wine for herself and Roger.

“Apparently so,” Roger nodded. He sipped his wine.

Clare looked intently at Crystal. “Is he in danger?”

Yes, Crystal thought, he was in danger. “There is an element of risk,” he said, trying to select his words with care, “but I am here to lessen the chances of anything happening.”

Clare studied him carefully for a moment, as if she was judging how capable he might be of looking after her brother. He reckoned she had decided he was at least adequate when she nodded.

“And he’s teaching me to cook for free,” Roger told her.

Clare spluttered wine everywhere, “You? Cooking? Oh, God, Mum is gonna love that!” she cackled. She turned to Crystal, “You poor thing!”

The conversation flowed easily after that. Clare asked a few questions about Crystal’s job. Towards the end of the second bottle of wine she asked, “Have any of your client’s died, Crystal?”

Crystal hesitated. In his mind’s eye he could see a blue silk tie, an expensive suit, a crumpled body on a rug that was rich with colours and soaked in blood. “No,” he lied.

*

Crystal had paused before answering when Clare had asked him if he had ever lost a client. Roger was pretty sure Crystal had lied about it. He glanced at Crystal, who was concentrating on the road as he drove them home. He wanted to tell Crystal that it didn’t matter. Well, it mattered, of course, if a life had been lost but Roger thought Crystal had lied because he was worried the truth would make Roger feel unsafe and Roger felt very safe with Crystal and he trusted him to protect him.

He flushed, thinking of Clare murmuring, “Keep him,” into his ear as she had hugged and kissed him as they left the pub. If only he could keep Crystal. He wondered what she had said to Crystal. He did not think he had imagined how startled Crystal had looked.

*

They had abandoned any pretence of sleeping on opposite sides of the bed now and cuddled up to each other. Crystal lay awake listening to Roger babble nonsense in his sleep. Roger’s head was a now familiar weight on his chest.

“He likes you,” Clare had murmured in his ear as she hugged him as they left the pub. “Take good care of him,” she had added. That was definitely a threat, Crystal thought. There was an unspoken but very much present “or else”.

*

The rehearsal space was just that – a huge echoing space. “It’s so we can test the sound systems and lights and so on for playing larger venues,” Roger explained to Crystal. He gave a little delighted chuckle. “We’re getting larger venues now,” he added, as if he could hardly believe it himself. 

The six of them – the band, Crystal and Miami – seemed tiny and insignificant in this expanse of dusty floor and stained ceiling tiles. A door banged somewhere. “Is there anyone else here?” Crystal asked Miami.

Miami was just saying there shouldn’t be when a man in overalls appeared in the doorway with a hold-all slung over his shoulder. Crystal noted that the nearest fire exits were all at the other end of the hall from where they had clustered. Their nearest door was the one the disturbingly familiar man had just strolled through and Crystal did not like this at all. Where had he seen the man before?

Then he saw the knife.

“Stay back, everyone!” he commanded. “Roger, get behind me!”

Roger glanced vaguely at Crystal and continued to walk towards the man with the knife.

“Roger!” Crystal shouted, “Get behind me, now! That’s an order!”

“Do I know you?” Roger was asking the man. “Oh! You work in Miami’s office! You’re in the mail-room aren’t you? Oh... Do you have a poodle? Do you want...?”

*

Roger had taken the man to be a fan at first, holding a shiny silver pen - one of those big solid ballpoints. He had been about to ask if the man wanted his autograph when he realised the man was actually holding a knife.

That must be why Crystal seemed so agitated.

Roger cursed his shitty eyesight.

He flinched as the knife suddenly flew out of the man’s hand. Crystal had kicked the man’s hand he dimly realised. He stumbled as he was pulled backwards into the centre of a protective circle formed by the others.

Crystal easily subdued the man. “Freddie – scarf!” he barked. “Miami – tie!”

Roger watched dumbly as Crystal tied the man up with Freddie’s scarf and Miami’s tie. A distant part of his mind registered that Miami was on the phone to the police.

*

Miami had locked the door of the room the tied-up assailant was in. They waited for the police in the car park.

Roger leaned against the wall of the building and watched Crystal pace up and down. Crystal suddenly whirled round to face Roger. He looked furious.

“I gave you two rules to obey,” Crystal said, and this carefully controlled anger was somehow worse than Crystal yelling at him would have been. “Two rules, Roger. I asked you to do as I asked without question, which you completely failed to do back there...”

“Why on earth did you keep walking towards him?” Brian butted in, evidently feeling exasperated with Roger.

Roger gulped. “I didn’t realise he had a knife at first,” he mumbled, “You know what my eyesight’s like,” he added miserably.

“What did you think the big shiny metal thing in his hand was?” John asked.

Roger flushed. “A pen,” he admitted. He sighed at their incredulous faces. “I thought at first maybe he just wanted my autograph.” He folded his arms defensively across his chest. “People often approach me brandishing pens,” he pointed out, “but not knives.”

John gave a snort of laughter. Freddie sniggered. “Oh, darling, you really must start wearing your glasses!” Freddie gulped.

Roger whimpered as Crystal’s hand pressed flat against his chest, pinning him against the wall. “You could have died!” he thundered. Roger dimly registered that the others had stopped laughing. “Two rules, Roger. All you had to do was to follow my orders immediately without question and to let me know of anything that might be relevant to your safety AND KNOWING YOUR EYESIGHT IS SO FUCKING BAD THAT YOU CAN’T IDENTIFY A FUCKING KNIFE WHEN IT IS RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN FUCKING USEFUL TO KNOW!”

Oh.

Crystal didn’t know what his eyesight was like.

Two police cars and a van roared into the car park. Crystal removed his hand from Roger’s chest and turned to walk towards them as they screeched to a halt. 

Roger had never felt so alone.

*

He should have known of course. 

Crystal neatly summarised what had happened to the officer in charge. 

How many times had he seen Roger squinting at the ingredients on a packet? 

He should have known.

He spoke to Miami and explained they all needed to go to the police station and give statements. They all made the trip to the police station in the cars they had arrived at the rehearsal hall in.

Which meant Roger was in Crystal’s car.

He seemed small in the car, his arms wrapped around himself, his eyes fixed on his knees. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Crystal thought of a blue silk tie and an expensive suit, a colourful rug and a blood-stained knife. 

He had broken his own rules. 

He had become very emotionally attached to Roger.

He had failed to prevent the stalker getting close to Roger.

He had promised Roger he would keep him safe but he had very nearly failed.

He had lost sight of why his first rule was in place, he thought bitterly. Yes, it was a bad idea to become too emotionally attached to the client in case something happened to them and because no job lasted forever and you would eventually be parted. 

But that was not why the rule existed. 

The rule existed so that the client did not become over-familiar with the close protection operative, becoming too comfortable, too lax about following the rules.

Crystal had broken his own rules and Roger had broken the rules Crystal had set for him, presumably because he no longer took Crystal seriously. He no longer remembered exactly why Crystal was there. Crystal was now a friend not the scary reminder that there was a threat and that rules needed to be obeyed to mitigate that threat.

Crystal cleared his throat. “Under these circumstances I would normally stay until after the trial but I don’t think you’ll need me any longer. Once I’ve taken you home today I’ll pack my things and go.”

“What?” Roger cried, looking up, “No! Don’t leave me!”

It took some effort but Crystal continued to look at the road, automatically scanning for potential threats. His resolve would crumble if he saw Roger’s face.

It was better this way. It was easier this way.

*

“Please don’t leave me!” Roger begged, following Crystal out to the car.

“Your stalker’s been caught,” Crystal pointed out, slinging his bag into the boot of the car. “You don’t need me anymore.”

Roger was about to blurt out that he would always need Crystal but some small part of his mind told him not to be quite so pathetic. That little part of him was fighting hard against the part of Roger that wanted him to fall to his knees and beg Crystal to stay. “What if he escapes?” he bleated. And that wasn’t pathetic at all, a little voice in his head said sarcastically.

“He won’t,” Crystal snapped.

*

Every time Roger looked at him with those pleading big blue eyes Crystal almost caved in and stayed. He would stay forever if he could, that was entirely the problem. “Goodbye, Roger.”

*

Roger stood forlornly in the driveway staring after the car as Crystal drove off. “But I love you,” he whispered.

*

“You need a night out,” Freddie told Roger. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

Roger shrugged on his coat. “I’m not really in the mood, Fred.” He followed the others towards the door. They had kept the industrial unit to rehearse in despite what had happened there.

“Nonsense, darling, it’ll be fun. It’ll be just like old times!” Freddie said, linking arms with Roger.

They all squashed into John’s car. Roger thought he really ought to get another car. He thought wistfully of Crystal’s Range Rover. He missed Crystal. His heart actually ached for Crystal, he was sure of it. 

It had been three weeks since his stalker had been thwarted by Crystal. Three weeks since Crystal had left. Three weeks since Roger had slept properly. The bed was too big without Crystal. He could no longer sleep without those strong arms holding him close, his head resting on Crystal’s chest. Three weeks since he had eaten properly. There seemed little point in cooking just for one. There had been an intimacy to cooking with Crystal, Roger reflected. Working together to create something to nourish both of them had felt cosy and safe. Three weeks since Roger had started smoking in earnest again.

Three weeks since Roger’s stalker had died of a heart-attack while in police custody. Three weeks since the police had found a shrine to Roger in the man’s house.

Roger tried not to think about the stalker. Perhaps Freddie was right. Maybe he did need a night out.

*

Trip gulped some beer, his eyes examining Crystal across the table. He picked up his fork and pointed it at Crystal. “I don’t see the problem,” he frowned, “so you fell for your client. You aren’t the first and you won’t be the last. The job’s over. Go get your man.”

Crystal deliberately forked some food into his mouth so that he didn’t have to formulate a reply right away. He knew Trip would wait patiently for an answer. He was a good friend which was exactly why Crystal had chosen to confide in him. “You know what happened last time,” he eventually muttered.

Trip looked perplexed. “You mean when your client killed himself? What’s that got to do with it?”

Crystal saw an expensive suit and a blue silk tie on a crumpled body on a colourful rug.

Trip’s eyes widened. “Were you...? You ‘n’ him...? On the job, Crys?” he spluttered.

Crystal’s cheeks flushed. He nodded.

“You were,” Trip lowered his voice “fucking your client while you were on the job?” he clarified.

Crystal nodded again and took a slug of beer. He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

Trip’s voice was much softer when he concluded, “And then he committed suicide?”

*

Roger was surprised to discover that after large amounts of champagne and several cocktails he felt much better. He knew that really the pain of his broken heart had only been temporarily numbed by the alcohol but now, right at this second, moving in time to the music, grinning inanely at Freddie, he felt almost happy.

Freddie pulled him close. “Better, darling?” he yelled over the music.

“Yeah,” Roger nodded, “Thank you.”

*

It was afternoon before Crystal surfaced. He hadn’t been sleeping well since he had left Roger. He missed having Roger nestled against him in bed. The night before was the first time in weeks he had been asleep all night but he did not feel refreshed. He supposed that was because it had been more like passing out than falling asleep. 

Trip was sprawled in an armchair laughing at something on his phone. “Hey,” Crystal mumbled. “You stayed,” he added stupidly.

Trip shrugged. “I wanted to make sure you made it out of your alcohol induced coma.”

Crystal grunted and flopped onto the sofa. “I’m still alive,” he groaned.

“I’ll make you a bacon roll,” Trip offered, “and coffee. That’ll sort you out.”

*

Roger shoved his sunglasses back up his nose. He wasn’t certain what John and Brian were having such a heated argument about but his head was about to burst. Freddie wandered over and offered him a water bottle. “Thanks mate,” Roger gulped some water gratefully.

Freddie clapped his hands and Roger winced at the sound. “Darlings, enough!” he commanded, “Shall we have a short break and try again?”

Roger wandered towards the exit. The cold wind was so strong that he had to lean into it to walk. Bracing, he thought. He wanted cigarettes and set off towards the nearby shop. It was the only shop on the industrial estate and sold a wide variety of goods. 

Today, with a freezing gale-force wind to contend with, the streets were empty. Roger noted that the shop sign was flapping madly on its rusting hinges, caught in cross-winds at the corner of two streets. He heard a car engine and twisted to check he was not about to be mown down by a vehicle. The pavement was a mere token strip and Roger was walking in the road.

Something hard slammed into the side of his head with great force. The ground was rushing towards him. Just before he lost consciousness the thought occurred to him that, in contravention of one of Crystal’s rules, he had not told anyone where he was going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if you thought he was safe...


	3. The Usual Rules Do Not Apply

The Usual Rules Do Not Apply

Ratty’s fingers were anxiously flipping the lid of his cigarette lighter open and shut. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. 

“You wanted to see me, dear?” Freddie said, adding, “Is it about Roger?” He felt hope bubble up inside him. “Do you know where the dozy tart has gone?”

Ratty shook his head. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. “We think he might have overheard us,” he mumbled. Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

Freddie reached out and placed his hand over Ratty’s to silence the lighter. “And what do you think Roger might have overheard you saying, dear?”

Ratty flushed. “We didn’t mean anything by it,” he muttered.

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Freddie fought to keep his voice calm. He felt someone near him and looked up to see Brian and John approaching. “What do you think Roger might have overheard you saying, darling?” he repeated for their benefit.

“We were just talking about how that bloke had those drawings of Roger dressed as a schoolgirl,” Ratty said, his cheeks scarlet with embarrassment. “We were wondering what the man might have done to Roger if he had got hold of him...”

“And you think Roger might have overheard your gossipy speculations?” John snapped.

Brian held out his hands in a placatory gesture. “Thank you for telling us,” he said.

“Do you know for sure that Roger heard you?” Freddie asked. His voice was cold.

“Not for sure,” Ratty said, “but I think he was in the corridor. I think he might have been on his way outside.”

*

It was blowing a gale outside. “Surely he wouldn’t have gone for a walk in this?” Brian said, his words whipped away by the wind.

“Perhaps he went to that little shop,” Freddie suggested.

John shook his head. “It’s closed today. It’s family-run and they have closed for a funeral today. The man behind the counter told me yesterday.”

“Yes, but Roger might not have known they were shut,” Freddie pointed out.

“He’d hardly still be there, though, would he?” John snapped. “He’s been gone for hours!”

“Perhaps he has fallen or something,” Brian suggested, “Maybe he’s injured his ankle and can’t walk. We should go that way and have a look, just in case.”

“I suppose it’s worth a try,” John muttered.

*

There was blood on the pavement near the shop but no sign of Roger.

A pair of mangled sunglasses lay on the pavement but there was no sign of Roger.

A shattered phone lay in the road but there was no sign of Roger.

Pieces of the shop sign lay splintered on the ground, strewn across the same area as the battered phone and the wrecked sunglasses. It had presumably blown off its rusty chains.

“Oh!” Freddie gasped.

“Now, this could be anyone’s blood,” John noted. He was taking photographs on his phone and then made a call.

“Are you calling the police?” Freddie gulped.

“I’m not sure the police will do anything until Roger has been missing for longer,” John said, “I’m calling Miami.”

Freddie looked at the blood. It looked so vibrant on the drab pavement. He was certain it was Roger’s blood and the thought made him feel sick.

The blood was concentrated in a fairly small area. Did that suggest Roger had not got up and staggered somewhere? Maybe he had managed to stem the flow of blood, of course, and had wandered off to get help without leaving a useful trail of blood behind him. Please let him have left this place under his own steam. Please don’t let him have been abducted. Freddie couldn’t bring himself to contemplate how Roger might have been injured. He could not think about what injury might have caused the bleeding.

“Let’s check the streets nearby,” Brian suggested. “He might have got up and wandered somewhere else,” he added hopefully.

“Yes, dear,” Freddie agreed. “Let’s look for him.” The next step would involve calling round hospitals to see if anyone fitting Roger’s description had been admitted. Freddie had a horrible feeling they would be taking that step soon.

*

Roger’s head hurt. It hurt a lot. It was the kind of pain that made you want to impress upon other people just how sore it was. This was not a simple headache. It was not a mild ache. It felt as if fireworks were exploding in his skull while his head was also being stabbed by knives. He felt sick. He was lying on something soft. He had a hazy notion that someone else was nearby and he tried to say he was going to vomit but could only make a little whimpering noise. Then darkness claimed him again.

*

Usually once Crystal had finished a job he deleted all the contact numbers associated with that client. He did not know why he had not done that when he had left Roger. Well, he did know, of course, it was because deleting those numbers would feel like deleting Roger and he couldn’t do that. He was not ready to let go of Roger yet.

So when his phone rang he could see that it was Miami calling. “Hey Miami,” he answered.

“Crystal,” Miami said. He sounded worried.

“What’s wrong?” Crystal asked. He had been lounging on the sofa and sat up, feeling more alert than he had done all day. His stomach lurched uneasily.

“Roger is missing,” Miami said simply and Crystal felt as if his stomach had flipped right over.

“How long has he been missing for?” Crystal asked. Professional Crystal had apparently taken over and Panicking Too-Emotionally-Attached-To-Roger Crystal had faded into the background.

He listened carefully as Miami explained as much as he knew. Blood. Crystal registered that there had been blood. He thought of a blue tie, an expensive suit and a colourful blood-splattered rug.

“Have you called the police?” he asked.

Miami explained that they had not. “He hasn’t been missing for very long and he may have been upset.”

“Call them,” Crystal advised him. “Call the detectives that were in charge of the stalking case.”

“Do you think there might have been some kind of error?” Miami asked, sounding alarmed. “The stalker, this Raymond Foster, is dead, isn’t he? You don’t think he wasn’t the stalker after all, do you?”

“I’m not saying that,” Crystal told him, “but Roger has recently been the target of a stalker. Foster died before he was fully questioned so we can’t be completely sure it was him. I do think it was him,” he added firmly, “but it means the police are likely to assist us sooner rather than later and we should take advantage of that.”

“You will help us to find him?” Miami asked.

“Yes, of course,” Crystal assured him. Finding people was not really what he did but he would move heaven and earth to find Roger.

“Thank you!” Miami cried, sounding relieved.

“Call me back once you’ve spoken to the police, please,” Crystal requested. 

*

“Crystal, darling,” Freddie flung his arms around Crystal and kissed his cheek. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

Crystal gently extricated himself from Freddie and said, “I take it he hasn’t miraculously reappeared then?”

Miami shook his head. “Please, have a seat,” he invited Crystal. They were in the office. There had been a televised appeal for information regarding Roger’s whereabouts first thing that morning. Crystal had arrived late and had only really spoken to Miami. Clare had been there and he felt guilty for not having made a point of finding her and speaking to her. He had thought she might have joined them here but she was nowhere to be seen.

Roger should be here too, of course. Roger should have been curling up next to Miami or snuggling against Freddie. There was a gap – a void – where Roger should have been. It felt wrong without him there. 

“No offence,” Brian said, “but I don’t see how you can do anything more than the police can.”

“I’m not sure we can afford you,” John added.

“How can you even consider that, dear?” Freddie wailed. “Roger is missing,” his voice cracked, “and we need all the help we can get to find him.”

“Crystal has very kindly agreed to work for free,” Miami said. His voice sounded choked with emotion.

Crystal looked at Brian. “Because you are correct and I will be of limited use in helping to find him. However, I may be of more use if there is a ransom demand. It’s not really my area of expertise but I do know some people...”

“You think he’s been kidnapped?” Brian gasped.

“It’s one possibility,” Crystal soothed them. “Do you think he’s run away?” he asked, interested.

John shook his head. “No, I don’t think he’s run away.”

“Nor do I,” Freddie agreed.

“Surely there’s an innocent explanation though?” Brian protested feebly.

“You know there isn’t, darling,” Freddie said in a low voice, “Someone’s taken him.”

*

Roger wished his head didn’t hurt so much. It was making it very difficult to think. He had fuzzy memories of a kind voice he hadn’t recognised murmuring comforting words to him as he vomited into a cake mixing bowl like the one his mum had at home. He had a hazy recollection of being helped to a too-bright bathroom so he could relieve himself.

He was in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room with pale yellow walls, sunshine filtering through daisy-patterned curtains. The light was too much. He closed his eyes again and drifted off.

*

“You should stay at Roger’s house, dear,” Freddie told Crystal as everyone started to disperse. He had hoped this would get lost in the flurry of farewells but realised he ought to have known better as Brian frowned.

“You don’t need somewhere to stay, do you?” Brian queried, looking confused.

“What if Roger escapes and finds his way home?” Freddie demanded. “One of us should be there.”

“He isn’t one of us,” John muttered.

Freddie pressed his lips tightly together and slowly counted to ten in his head.

One: was he the only person here who could see that Roger and Crystal were made for each other?

Two: actually he suspected Miami could see it too.

Three: surely Brian and John had noticed how badly Roger had been pining from the second Crystal had left? He’d lost weight. He’d started smoking again.

Four: Crystal looked awful too. Freddie suspected he had been missing Roger terribly even before Roger had vanished.

Five: okay, maybe he could see why the others might feel slightly hostile towards Crystal because of the way he had yelled at Roger after the attack and then left him. Freddie had been upset with Crystal too. Roger had been so miserable. He’d moped around saying it was his fault and he would be a better person, threatening to become an infinitely more irritating person in the process.

Six: perhaps the silver lining to Roger’s disappearance would be to bring Roger and Crystal together.

Seven: only there was nothing good about Roger’s disappearance. There had been blood, which implied Roger was injured. Freddie couldn’t bear to think of Roger all alone and frightened and hurt. He had to stay strong for Roger, he thought.

Eight: while he was drunk Roger had let slip that he had been sharing a bed with Crystal and Freddie felt strongly that it would be good for Crystal to be back in Roger’s bed – to be reminded of how close they had been before the silly nonsense about breaking the rules had broken them apart. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was so certain that Crystal should be in Roger’s house but all his instincts were telling him that was how it should be.

Nine: and it would be good to have someone in the house. He couldn’t bear the idea that Roger might find his way home and have no one to comfort him.

Ten: damn, he didn’t feel a bit calmer.

“Crystal is a valued member of the team as far as I’m concerned,” Freddie snapped. “And I really do think we need someone at the house. What if a ransom note is delivered there?” His voice faltered as that thought entered his head. He took a deep breath and continued, “The rest of us all have wives and children or partners at home so none of us can do it.”

He had been so happy when Jim had agreed to move in with him. He wanted Roger to have that joy with Crystal. They’d be perfect together. Once they got Roggie back. “If Roger makes his way home... If he’s hurt...” Freddie felt frustrated as tears spilled down his face. He needed to make a point and now he was crying instead.

“I think it’s a very sensible idea, if Crystal is willing to stay there,” Miami said.

Thank God for Miami, Freddie thought. He was so solid and dependable. He suspected that Miami did also understand that Crystal and Roger were destined to be together. After all, Crystal had been the first person Miami had turned to for help.

*

“Uh – yeah,” Crystal said. He felt a bit stunned. There was no real reason for him to stay at Roger’s house. They could easily check the house once a day. However, he discovered that if he could not have the real, physical, vibrant Roger then the next best thing would be to surround himself with Roger’s possessions, his aura or essence, in his house.

“I have a set of keys to his house,” Miami said, adding, “I’m sure Roger wouldn’t mind.”

“We have no way of knowing that,” Brian huffed.

“He’ll be happy someone was there to water his plants,” Freddie sniffed. “Thank you, dear,” he said to Crystal.

Miami set out a set of keys to Crystal. “I checked the house last night and this morning,” he told them, “Just in case.”

“How long... When should we expect to receive a ransom request?” John gulped. He sounded close to tears.

Crystal bit his lip. He studied them. Freddie was crying. The others looked on the verge of tears. The part of Crystal that was too emotionally attached to Roger wanted to cry too but Professional Crystal was going to have to take charge here. He cleared his throat. “It can vary,” he told them. “If he’s been taken purely for financial gain then we should hear from the kidnappers soon.”

“Purely for financial...” John echoed, “Oh...” he gasped as the implications of this sunk in.

“And if they want to play with him too, dear?” Freddie questioned.

“Sometimes a ransom demand comes later,” Crystal said softly, not wanting to add: when he is broken and they have no further use for him.

Freddie gave a distressed gulp and the band joined together in a group hug. Crystal felt Miami’s hand clasp his shoulder. “Best to be honest,” Miami murmured and Crystal nodded but he had never wished more that the probabilities of the situation were different. 

*

Roger managed to keep both eyes open. His head was now merely extremely painful rather than excruciatingly painful. He very slowly sat up. 

He could smell his own stale sweat and wrinkled his nose. He was clad only in his underpants and had a vague memory of the person with the kind voice helping him undress in the too-bright bathroom.

He very gingerly shuffled out of bed and glanced around the room. The room contained the bed, a chair, a bed-side table with a lamp, jug of water and glass on top of it and a chest of drawers. A slightly ajar door led to the little bathroom Roger dimly recalled being in at some point. There was only one other door so it must lead out of the room. Roger tried it and found that it was locked.

He was being held captive here, then.

He looked at himself in the mirror in the bathroom. The right side of his face was caked in dried blood and bruised and there was a gash on his forehead, near the hairline. He found some soap, wash-cloths and towels in the bathroom and washed himself, feeling a little better once he was fresher. He very gingerly washed his face, wincing as he cleaned the injured side.

This activity exhausted him and he returned to bed.

He was being held captive here.

He had been kidnapped.

A wave of panic threatened to engulf him but he heard Crystal’s voice in his head saying, “I’d like you to memorise these rules, Roger. They’re to help you if you are kidnapped.”

The first rule was: try not to panic. Try to control your emotions. Roger could hear Crystal’s voice inside his head again, steady and re-assuring, saying, “Obviously that’s much easier said than done.”

*

He couldn’t believe bloody Roger, the bloody idiot, had not told anyone where he was going or given an expected time frame for his trip. He supposed Roger had thought he no longer had to worry. Of course, it would only have helped if he someone had decided to accompany him, although if he had told someone where he was going they would have realised he was missing sooner. They would have found the blood on the pavement sooner. It would have helped, of course, if Crystal had still been there to accompany him. But no one had accompanied Roger and Crystal had not been there and Roger had been alone, was alone now, injured and frightened.

Crystal wandered disconsolately round Roger’s house, picking up his comb and fingering the golden strands of hair twisted round its teeth. He buried his face in a discarded jumper to inhale Roger’s scent. His fingers trailed around the edge of a discarded mug, imagining Roger’s lips touching the surface as he drank from it. “Where are you?” he whispered.

He thought of the bits of Roger’s possessions that had been strewn across the pavement and road, the cracked sunglasses and smashed phone. Had Roger dropped them? Had there been a struggle and they had fallen? He thought of the blood.

Crystal couldn’t think of any accidental way Roger could have vanished and remained undiscovered for this long. He wanted to. Like Brian, he really wanted to think of a scenario where Roger had simply got lost in some daft way.

Roger had almost certainly been kidnapped.

Miami had received a phone call from the police just before they had all left his office. “The police have confirmed the blood on the pavement is Roger’s blood.” Roger had almost certainly been kidnapped using force.

*

“There you are,” the voice of the kind stranger said, sounding delighted as Roger carefully opened one eye. “Are you feeling better, Mr Taylor?” The voice sounded slightly anxious now.

Roger grunted. Crystal’s voice filled his head, telling him, “Attempt to build a relationship with your captors but start slowly.” Roger opened his other eye and turned his head slightly in an attempt to see his kidnapper which set off an explosion of pain and he groaned.

“Take it easy,” the gentle voice advised him.

Too late, Roger thought as he slipped into unconsciousness again.

*

The bed felt too big without Roger. Crystal tossed and turned and eventually resorted to hugging Roger’s pillow. He could smell Roger’s shampoo. It was as close as he could get.

Had they missed something? Had Raymond Foster been a red herring? Was the real stalker someone else? Was Foster still alive? How could he be? They had been told Foster had died after having a heart attack in a police cell. Was that true? Surely it must be? But, if Foster was truly dead then who had taken Roger now?

Had Crystal abandoned Roger too quickly? He hugged Roger’s pillow tightly, uncomfortably aware that the answer to that question was almost certainly yes. “I’m sorry Roger,” he whispered into the darkness.

Had Crystal caused this by becoming too emotionally attached to Roger? He had become too emotionally attached to his previous client and they had died. Was this a punishment for breaking the rules? If it was intended to punish Crystal for breaking the rules then why did others have to get hurt – to die – in the process?

Roger was not dead.

Crystal felt sure of that. He felt sure he would know if Roger was dead. He loved Roger. There was no point in pretending otherwise any more – he loved Roger so surely he would know if Roger was no longer alive? Surely they would get him back. 

A treacherous little voice inside his head reminded him of the blood. Roger’s precious blood spilled across the pavement. Roger was hurt.

Roger was hurt and probably very scared and almost certainly not doing very well at sticking to the kidnapping rule that stated ‘don’t antagonise your captors’. Crystal squeezed the pillow tightly. “I love you, Rog,” he whispered, “Please be okay.”

*

The room was dimly lit when Roger awakened. His head ached but the pain was now less ferocious. He shakily managed to visit the bathroom then crawled back into bed, sipping some water before he lay down again.

He always missed Crystal when he was in bed. He had grown accustomed to waking up with his head resting on Crystal’s chest, listening to the steady beat of Crystal’s heart, comforted by his warmth and the strong arms circling him protectively.

Now, locked in an unfamiliar room, he badly wanted Crystal to appear and tell him this was all just a bad dream and that Crystal wouldn’t let anyone hurt him. He wanted to be safe in Crystal’s arms.

He imagined Crystal telling him not to be such a baby.

If he followed Crystal’s rules this time would everything work out okay?

*

They had agreed to meet in Miami’s office each morning until Roger had been found. Freddie thought there was an unspoken, appalling, ‘dead or alive’ hanging unsaid in the air like a poisonous cloud.

No one looked like they had slept. Everyone gratefully accepted mugs of coffee. Freddie wrapped both hands around his mug, savouring the warmth. Was Roger warm, at least, wherever he was? “What if Raymond Foster had an assistant?” he asked. This thought had kept him awake for most of the night. “Assistant probably isn’t the right word. Accomplice, is that what I mean?”

“What makes you say that?” Crystal asked, leaning forward, evidently interested.

“The photographs,” Freddie said, “the ones of Roger at his house.” When the police had raided Foster’s mansion (he had been a multi-millionaire apparently, a former banker or something) they had discovered a shrine to Roger which included sketches of him (including the ones Ratty and the others had been discussing during the conversation they were afraid Roger might have overheard) and photographs.

“What about the photographs?” Brian frowned.

Brian sounded annoyed and Freddie told himself that Brian was simply sleep-deprived and worried (as they all were) and that was making him irritated. It was making Freddie tearful but he was determined not to cry again. No tears today. It occurred to him that Roger would have made them all laugh, would have lightened the mood and eased the tension and he wanted to cry more than ever.

He took a deep breath. “Roger had seen Foster watching his house,” he noted, shooting a wary glance at Crystal because Roger’s failure to tell Crystal about the dog-walker that had turned out to be his stalker had prompted another outburst from Crystal regarding Roger not following his precious rules as they had left the police station after giving their statements about the attack. “But Roger never mentioned seeing him with a camera. Some of those shots were taken from over by the cafe. Is it possible someone else took them for Foster?”

“And they’ve now carried out his kidnapping plan?” Crystal mused.

“Couldn’t Foster just have used a tiny hidden camera?” John suggested.

“That’s possible,” Crystal conceded, “but i don’t think we should rule Freddie’s theory out. The police didn’t find any covert surveillance equipment when they searched Foster’s house so maybe someone else did take those shots.”

“Even if they did we still have no idea who or where Roger is,” John sighed, getting up and pacing agitatedly around the office.

“I can research Foster,” Crystal said, “to see who he associated with, who he might have asked to do that for him.”

“That might be a wild goose chase though,” Brian pointed out. 

“I think it is worth a try,” Crystal told them. 

“Thank you, dear,” Freddie murmured, “Is there anything we can do to help?” He felt so useless just sitting about fretting.

“I’ll let you know if there’s anything you can do,” Crystal promised.

*

Crystal felt almost cheerful now that he had a concrete task to carry out. At least he was doing something not just waiting for a ransom note.

He thought he could understand Brian and John’s apparent reluctance to go back and take a closer look at Foster. He thought it might subconsciously be making them feel bad because if Freddie’s theory was proved correct and Foster had an accomplice then Roger’s kidnapping could potentially have been avoided. If the theory was wrong then they had no leads. 

Crystal wasn’t going to think about that though. He was going to investigate the hell out of Raymond Foster.

*

Roger had managed to wobble to the window and peeked out from behind the curtains to discover a small garden with a little patio area, vegetable and flower beds and a little garden shed painted a sunny yellow. Someone loved this little garden. He could see a sea of identical houses. He had no idea where he was. Was he even still in London?

That thought made him panicky and he imagined Crystal telling him to get a grip.

He heard footsteps on creaky floorboards and scrambled back into bed, sitting up clutching the covers to his chest, watching the locked door anxiously. He heard keys jangling and felt his breathing becoming erratic. He heard Crystal’s voice in his head telling him to aim for control over his emotions. He reminded himself that his captor seemed to have a kind voice. Did the tone of your voice have anything to do with your personality, though?

Roger told himself that if his head wasn’t pounding, waves of pain crashing through his skull, he would be behind the door ready to attack. Then he heard Crystal’s voice saying, “Once it is clear that the kidnapping has been successful do not put up any further resistance.”

Roger felt a rush of shame – further resistance – he hadn’t offered any resistance, although admittedly he had been knocked unconscious. He hadn’t actually realised he was being kidnapped at the time. Roger didn’t think a small detail like being knocked out would have prevented Crystal from offering some resistance though.

The door swung open.

*

Crystal’s phone buzzed. He fished it out of his pocket. Please be Roger. Roger had memorised Crystal’s number. Could he still remember it, though? Or had that knowledge slipped from his mind along with the instruction to always let someone know where he was going and when he was expecting to return.

It was Trip calling. “I saw that your man is missing,” Trip said, “how are you?”

How was he? Crystal considered this. He was not okay, he decided, and he felt that he would never be okay again until Roger was back safe and well. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he mumbled, “I’m helping them,” he added, feeling slightly defensive although he was not sure why, “I’m staying at Roger’s house.”

“Do you want company,” Trip offered.

“No, thank you. Thank you for offering, Trip, that’s...” That meant a lot, actually, and Crystal felt close to tears suddenly. He cleared his throat. “Trip, I’m researching Raymond Foster and I could use some help with that.” He outlined Freddie’s theory for Trip.

“Okay,” Trip said. “I’ve just got a new class.” Trip ran his own business offering training classes for budding security operatives. He regularly tried to recruit Crystal to take classes too. “I’ll get them to do some research for us it’ll be good training for them.” There was a short pause. “You take care of yourself, mate. I’ll be in touch.”

*

Once Raymond Foster had been arrested then died in custody the press had published a great deal about him. Crystal assumed a lot of it was inaccurate but he did sift through the output, paying particular attention to the articles published by the newspaper that had sensationally printed the photographs taken by the police of Foster’s shrine to Roger. The photos had been leaked and there was an ongoing legal furore about them. Everyone had seen them.

Crystal’s heart bled for Roger and this invasion of his privacy, first by Foster then by the person who had leaked the pictures and the person who had taken the decision to make them public. Everyone had seen these photographs of the shrine and, like Ratty and the other crew members, many people had speculated about what Foster would have liked to do to Roger. Crystal hoped Roger had not heard people sniggering like adolescents about Foster’s supposed fantasies but he knew he would have done.

There had been a lot of photographs of Roger in Foster’s shrine. A wall had been covered by them. He had organised them in groups. There was a section of publicity shots. There was a section of pictures cut out of newspapers. There was a section of slightly blurry shots which had clearly been taken, probably by Foster, at shows. In these most of the time Roger was barely visible, obscured by the drum kit. Then there were the photographs Freddie had been thinking of, the photographs of Roger at home.

There were photographs of Roger in his driveway, opening his front door, crossing the road to the cafe. There were much more sinister photographs of Roger unaware that he was being snapped through his kitchen window or having a cigarette in his back garden. There was a photograph of Roger pulling open his bedroom curtains clad only in his underwear.

The photographs taken from the back of the house were disturbing and Crystal thought Freddie may well have been on to something. Whoever had taken them would have been seen by Roger unless they had been further away using a powerful zoom lens. It was still possible that Foster had taken them himself, of course, but it was also possible that someone had helped him obtain those pictures. They had been in a prominent position on the wall and Crystal shuddered at the thought that these snaps of Roger had been particularly prized.

*

A dark haired man entered the room, his face lighting up when he saw that Roger was awake. “Good morning Mr Taylor,” he said in a hushed tone, “how is your head today?”

“A bit better, thank you,” Roger said. He could hear Crystal’s voice in his head telling him not to antagonise his captor. His captor looked kind, Roger thought. Looks could be deceiving. 

His kidnapper beamed as if that was the best news he had ever heard. “Do you think you could eat some toast? Would you like some tea?”

Roger was not sure what he had expected of a kidnapper but being offered tea and toast wasn’t it. “Er... Have you kidnapped me?” he blurted out.

The man looked distressed. He wrung his hands. Roger had read about people wringing their hands in books but he had never seen anyone actually do it in real life. “Oh dear,” the kidnapper groaned, “you were just lying there and when I realised who you were I’m afraid I panicked. I thought Jeremy had hurt you at first and I thought I might be implicated because of the photographs... Now, of course, I realise you were hit on the head by the shop sign when it blew off and I should’ve taken you to hospital, of course, and I’m so sorry...”

Roger’s head hurt. He was about to ask several questions but decided he needed sustenance first. “Why don’t you make me some tea and toast and then you can tell me all about it,” he suggested. 

*

The Foster family had a very high turnover of domestic staff. Crystal had discovered that most people left because of the son – Raymond Foster’s child from his third marriage. He had been on his fifth marriage at the time of his death.

Crystal contacted a few of the former staff and comments about the son included: “evil”, “disturbed”, “that little shit”, “a fucking psycho” and “there’s something very wrong with that boy.”

Jeremy Foster was no longer a boy, Crystal reflected, he was now eighteen. Would he have assisted his father? 

Previous employees had also disliked Raymond Foster, referring to him as “an arrogant bastard”, “rude”, “cold beneath a superficially charming exterior” and “he appeared to be nice at first but was actually cruel and ill-tempered.”

Wife number five, Alicia, had left him very publicly for a former business rival shortly before he had been arrested following his attack on Roger. Had her departure pushed Raymond over the edge and prompted him to attack?

Crystal called his police contact to ask what they could tell him about the Foster family. It was a troubling tale. 

The son, Jeremy, had a history of violence which had started at school when he had attacked his peers and his teachers. He had also been suspected of theft and of arson. His father’s contacts and money had ensured he did not receive any custodial sentences. 

“We think people were scared to speak out against them,” Crystal’s contact told him, “not least because, beneath a thin veneer of charm and respectability, Raymond Foster was just as unpleasant and violent as his son.”

Crystal’s contact told him that there had been rumours that Raymond Foster had been violent towards his wives which they thought was the reason his latest wife had eventually left. His assistants didn’t tend to stay for very long either. “At the time of his death his current assistant had only been in the job for a couple of months and had been looking for a new employer after the first week.” The contact sighed again. “Everyone who worked for him was terrified of him.”

*

Roger’s kidnapper had brought him tea, toast and a pair of black silk pyjamas which he had helped Roger change into. Roger wondered if he would ever feel less groggy and shaky. The pyjamas were a suspiciously surprisingly good fit. Roger would have preferred something cosier but was grateful for the coverage.

His kidnapper tenderly touched his hair where it was matted and glued to his scalp with blood. “Later, perhaps, if you feel up to it you could have a bath and wash your hair. A bath might be easier than the shower.”

Roger wondered about this as the little bathroom in the corner of the room only had a shower. “That’d be nice,” he agreed. He nibbled his toast and considered what the man had said earlier. He recalled the shop sign swinging crazily, creaking on its rusting chains. “So the sign hit me?” he ventured. That did make sense. The street had been deserted apart from the car.

“Yes,” the kidnapper was sitting on the chair next to the bed and leaned forward to explain this to Roger. “I was driving along and I saw the sign fly through the air and smack you on the side of the head. “You fell to the ground unconscious.”

Roger’s fingers fluttered towards his injuries. Pain was radiating from the cut. He frowned, which hurt. “So you thought you would just keep me?”

The man looked shocked. “No! No! I just... I panicked when I realised it was you! I thought I’d be accused of hurting you!” He buried his face in his hands. “But they probably have CCTV and now I’ll be jailed for kidnapping you!” he wailed. 

Roger wished his head didn’t hurt quite so much. He sipped some tea. “Why would you be accused of hurting me?”

*

“The CCTV camera hasn’t worked since last August,” the shopkeeper informed Crystal. “The police had a look but there’s nothing there.”

Crystal thanked the man and left the shop, wrapping his arms around himself. Of course it couldn’t be that easy. Still, there might be other CCTV cameras mounted on the walls of some of the buildings on the industrial estate. They might show people or vehicles. 

He tried not to think about how long Roger had now been missing for. Unhelpful statistics regarding the dramatic drop in the chances of finding a missing person alive the longer they had been gone for were continually popping up in his brain.

His phone buzzed. Please, please be Roger. Please, please be good news. Let Roger have been discovered alive and well. There had been blood, a little voice in his head reminded him, so Roger could not be completely unharmed.

It was Trip. “Hey Trip,” Crystal mumbled, trying not to sound as disappointed as he felt. 

“I just wanted to see how you are,” Trip said, “and what I really mean is: how un-okay are you?”

“I think I’d sense it somehow if he was...” Crystal was unable to say ‘dead’ out loud.

“Fuck,” Trip muttered, “okay, I’m coming to you, tell me where you are.”

*

Roger nibbled his toast. If he took large bites and crunched his toast his head throbbed horribly. There was an optimum bite size he needed to focus on.

He listened as his kidnapper told his story.

The man had worked for Raymond Foster. “I was taken on as his assistant. I’d been a personal assistant in an office before then and the hours were long and the pay was poor.”

Foster had not paid much more but the hours, on paper at least, looked more favourable. “As it turned out he wanted a slave, not an assistant,” the man said bitterly.

He had realised within a few days that he could not work for this obnoxious man. “I started job-hunting. I try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, Mr Taylor. I think there is goodness in every one but I’m afraid it was buried deep in Mr Foster, may he rest in peace.”

“Please, call me Roger,” Roger invited him.

The man smiled. “Thank you.” His smile faded. “I was silly. Naive, I suppose. I always try to take people at face value, y’ know? I don’t look for ulterior motives. I’ve been mistaken before and I’ve been ridiculed before for that.”

Roger nodded sympathetically, mouth full of toast. He too had been laughed before for not seeing a hidden agenda. Then he wondered if his nod would be misconstrued as an agreement that he saw his captor as a naive fool? “That’s happened to me, too,” he mumbled through his mouthful of toast. It was safer, he felt, to disgust his captor than to antagonise him.

“So I didn’t question what he asked me to do,” the man explained, “and I’d never had a job exactly like that before so I didn’t know what an eccentric millionaire was likely to ask for.”

Roger listened as his kidnapper revealed that he had found Foster his job in the mailroom of Miami’s office building. Foster had said he wanted to spy on a business rival.

Roger’s captor had faked references for Foster. “I did question that. I was uneasy about it but he assured me no one would ever find out.” He looked anxiously at Roger. “I told the police, after his death, but they didn’t take it any further.”

The man had also been asked to take photographs of Roger. “He told me that he thought you were having an affair with his wife. I am so sorry about that. He was a difficult man to say no to.”

Roger sipped his now lukewarm tea. He was not sure how he felt about that. The difficulty, he realised suddenly, was that he liked this man. Crystal’s rules did not cover what to do if you had Stockholm syndrome. Was that what this was? Or did you have to love the kidnapper for that to apply? He didn’t love the man but he did think that under different circumstances they could have been friends. 

Shit. 

*

Trip set a glass in front of Crystal and slid onto the seat opposite him. The bar was quiet. Crystal glanced at the glass and looked questioningly at Trip.

“Medicinal brandy,” Trip told him.

“I have to drive,” Crystal protested.

“One of the students drove me here so I can drive your car back. Drink that, Crys, it’ll do you good.”

Crystal took a sip. “Thank you,” he mumbled, “I don’t just mean for the brandy...”

“So,” Trip said, looking uncomfortable and sounding very businesslike, “I spoke to a friend of the last Mrs Foster. She reckoned that there was no love lost between Jeremy and his old man. She didn’t think he would assist Raymond. She did reckon that the boy’s constant taunts and continual aggression towards Raymond might have helped tip him over the edge and provoke the attack on Roger.”

“What did he taunt his father about?” Crystal wondered. He felt as if the brandy was warming him from the inside out.

“This girl, Kelly her name is, said the wife, Alicia, had found out that Foster was cheating on her, having one night stands with young men. Kelly thought he had hit Alicia on at least one occasion too. Alicia had decided to leave and Jeremy taunted Raymond about his inability to keep a woman.”

Crystal nodded then sighed heavily. “I just don’t see why any of these people, apart from Raymond Foster, who’s dead, would want to kidnap Roger now? They’ve all got plenty of money.” He gulped the rest of the brandy. Raymond Foster had wanted Roger for reasons other than financial gain. Crystal did not want to think that someone else might have become obsessed with Roger. 

“Maybe it isn’t connected to Foster?” Trip suggested.

Crystal sighed again and rubbed his eyes. “Maybe,” he conceded. “It just seemed likely that it would be, y’ know? But I suppose anyone could have taken an unhealthy interest in Rog with all the press coverage...” His voice quavered.

“If anyone can find him we can,” Trip said. He reached across the table and squeezed Crystal’s hand. “Don’t give up.”

“I’ll never give up!” Crystal promised fiercely.

*

Roger’s captor explained that he lived near to the industrial estate. “I’d never seen you near here until I found you after you’d hurt your head,” he noted. “I was scared the police would think I’d been working more closely with Mr Foster than was the case. I panicked. I’m so sorry that I didn’t take you to hospital. I just... I was on my way home so I just took you with me.”

“And locked me up,” Roger pointed out.

“Oh,” the kidnapper laughed, “I keep forgetting to push down the little button that disables the lock,” he explained. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to lock you in!” He looked concerned. “Oh, you poor darling, you must have been so frightened! I’m so sorry.”

Roger frowned. His head painfully protested against the frown. He was not sure his captor was what the person who had drawn up the list of kidnapping rules had in mind. “Uh...” he fingered the silk pyjamas, “these don’t look like they would fit you,” he observed, “but they are perfect for me.” Another thought occurred to him. “And why do you have a lock on the door of this room if it wasn’t meant to imprison me?”

*

“Who is this?” Freddie barked into his phone. Was Roger’s kidnapper calling him from this unknown number?

“Mr Mercury? My name’s Trip, I’m a friend of Crystal’s. I’m sorry to bother you at this difficult time.”

Freddie listened with mixed feelings as Trip explained that he was worried about Crystal who was apparently not coping well with Roger’s disappearance. Neither am I, Freddie thought.

Trip explained that he had taken Freddie’s number from Crystal’s phone when Crystal had gone to the bathroom. “He insisted on going back to Roger’s house alone and I’ll check in on him but I was wondering if you would too, if it’s not too much of an imposition? He wouldn’t realise that is what you were doing, you see. He might open up to you.”

Freddie doubted it. Roger was the person people opened up to. Roger was the one who hugged everyone and made it all better. He glanced at Jim, who was hovering in case he was needed. He thought of Crystal alone in Roger’s house. He sighed. This complete stranger was presumably very worried about Crystal since he had decided to call someone he had never met and ask for help. “Of course I can check in on him, darling,” he said, adding, “May I ask, is there a reason you’re quite so worried about him?”

“Thank you,” Trip said, sounding very relieved, “I probably shouldn’t tell you this but... I’m worried about him because of something that happened with the client he had before Roger...”

*

The room locked because the kidnapper had once had a lodger. “He was studying here for a year,” he explained to Roger. “Nice bloke. His name was Sam. He’s in Barcelona now. I have liked having the place to myself but I expect that now I don’t have a job I shall have to rent the room out again.” He smiled sadly at Roger. “Would you like more tea, dear?”

Roger accepted the offer of more tea and flopped back onto his pillows feeling exhausted and confused. He seemed to have been kidnapped kind of by accident by a nice person.

The man returned with two mugs of tea, a plate of chocolate biscuits and some painkillers for Roger’s head, which he gratefully swallowed. The kidnapper explained that on the day before Mr Foster had attacked Roger he had been asked to buy clothes in a specific size which he had been told were for a guest who would be arriving to stay for a while and wouldn’t have much with him.

The kidnapper sighed. “I promise I had no idea the clothes were for you. I didn’t know he was planning to kidnap you.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’d done the clothes shopping on my way home using cash Mr Foster had given to me and so they are in this house. I’m afraid I didn’t tell the police about that. I was so scared they would think I was some kind of accomplice.” He sighed. “And now I’ve made such a mess of things,” he concluded unhappily.

*

Jim had offered to accompany Freddie to see Crystal. Trip had indicated he only meant Freddie should call Crystal but Freddie thought a visit might be better. “That’s very sweet of you,” he told Jim, “but I think it would be best if I saw him alone.”

Part of Freddie was irritated by having to go to see Crystal at all. He felt Crystal ought to be supporting him not the other way round. Then he felt guilty. They all missed Roger. They were all worried about him. Worried seemed such an understatement for how Freddie felt. Frantic or bereft would have been more fitting, perhaps.

He thought about what Trip had told him about Crystal’s job prior to him becoming Roger’s bodyguard. “He had a relationship with the client and then the client killed himself. I’m worried he thinks that because he’s fallen in love with Roger that something bad will happen to Roger.”

Something bad had happened to Roger, Freddie noted. And he shouldn’t blame Crystal for that, of course, but he had to admit he did have a ridiculous notion that Crystal’s love for Roger had somehow hexed him.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in?” Jim asked as he parked neatly outside of Roger’s house.

“I’m sure, thank you darling.” Freddie leaned over to kiss Jim’s cheek.

“Let me know when you want me to pick you up,” Jim said.

“Oh, there’s no need, dear, I can...”

“I am coming to pick you up,” Jim interrupted him firmly, “so just let me know when you are ready to come home, okay.”

“I love it when you’re bossy,” Freddie murmured, “I promise I’ll call you when I’m ready to leave.”

*

“I shall call the police,” the kidnapper decided, as he finished his tea.

Roger shook his head. “Don’t,” he said, ignoring the part of his brain screaming at him asking what the hell he thought he was doing in favour of the other part of his brain that insisted his kidnapper was a good person who’d had a moment of madness.

Roger had occasionally done things in the madness of a moment then regretted them later.

“Your family and friends must be going insane with worry about you,” the man noted. “In fact, I know they are. They all looked distraught on television. We must reunite you with your boyfriend.”

“They were on telly?” Roger’s head was throbbing. He frowned again. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

*

Crystal’s phone alerted him that someone was approaching Roger’s house. Freddie. He stumbled to the front door, opening it as Freddie was about to press the doorbell. “Is there news? Is he safe?”

“Sorry, darling, no, there’s no news. I just came to keep you company for a little while.” Freddie brandished a bottle of vodka.

“I’m not very good company just now,” Crystal mumbled. He had been so hopeful and now he felt drained, as if every emotion he had ever had or could ever have had left him along with his hope.

“Neither am I, dear,” Freddie said briskly, “so we can be miserable together. Now let me in the fucking door, there’s a love.”

*

“There was a televised appeal for information on your whereabouts,” the kidnapper explained. “The band and your sister did all the talking, mainly the singer, but your manager and your boyfriend... Sorry, I thought you and your bodyguard were a couple... Anyway, your bodyguard and your manager were standing at the back and he looked so miserable, poor love. I suppose your client going missing is the worst possible outcome for a bodyguard.” He halted and looked anxiously at Roger. “Are you okay, dear? Do you feel faint? Are you going to be sick?”

“’M okay...” Roger murmured. “Crystal was there?” he whispered.

*

Crystal watched wax spill down the side of one of the fat church candles Freddie had lit. Freddie had made them a little nest of cushions and rugs on the floor next to Roger’s fireplace where a fire now flickered. Was it smokeless fuel, Crystal wondered hazily. He supposed it must be. There were laws, weren’t there? Freddie had set candles in little clusters on the hearth. It felt almost romantic and Crystal thought it should be awkward but it seemed weirdly okay.

“This is how I sit with Roggie when we are putting the world to rights,” Freddie told him sadly.

Crystal felt tears threaten and tried to wash them away with a slug of his very strong vodka and tonic. Freddie seemed to have gone very easy on the tonic.

“You fell in love with him,” Freddie stated.

“Yeah,” Crystal agreed.

“He hasn’t spoken to me about it,” Freddie said slowly, adding, “and I’m frankly fucking amazed at his audacity there, but I’m fairly certain he loves you too, so why haven’t you two had that conversation?”

Crystal sighed. “I’m... I have rules about dating clients.”

“Rules are made to be broken, darling,” Freddie told him, “besides, he stopped being your client. Why didn’t you ask him out then?”

Crystal gulped down the rest of his drink. Freddie immediately took his glass and poured him another drink. Crystal was dimly aware that he ought to stop him. He also vaguely thought Freddie was not drinking as quickly as he was. He shook his head. “I’d hurt him,” he muttered. “I can’t do that to him.”

“I don’t believe you’d ever intentionally hurt him, dear,” Freddie said softly.

Crystal was appalled. “No! Never! I’d never mean to hurt him but I’m scared I would anyway. Maybe I already have. Maybe my love cursed him and it’s my fault he’s gone!”

“Now, don’t be silly, darling,” Freddie handed him his replenished glass. “What on earth makes you say that?”

*

Roger’s kidnapper had run him a bubble bath. “Lots of bubbles to preserve your modesty, darling,” he had said cheerfully and his unwitting use of a term of endearment Roger associated with Freddie made Roger ache for his friend. “I got a variety of new clothes for you when I was doing Mr Foster’s bidding,” his captor said, “including underwear so there are plenty of options for you to change into after your bath.”

Roger rather shyly asked if there were any cosier pyjamas and was delighted to discover there were. “I’ve got some lovely brushed cotton ones,” his kidnapper assured him.

His captor very gently washed his hair while he lay in the bath, which felt very intimate and should have been awkward but was weirdly okay. He felt exhausted by the trip to the bathroom. “Is there something I can call you?” Roger asked. It felt odd being helped to bathe by someone whose name he didn’t know.

“You may as well know my name, darling, which is Peter Freestone, although I’m called Phoebe by everyone.”

Phoebe had carefully bundled Roger up in a warm soft blanket on the sofa and found a news channel showing the appeal he had been talking about. Roger gasped at the sight of Crystal standing next to Miami. The band and Clare were seated and Miami and Crystal were behind them with their backs to the wall, as if they were waiting for a firing squad to materialise and shoot them. “Crystal,” Roger breathed, “you came back...”

He only realised he was crying when Phoebe offered him a handkerchief. “Thank you,” Roger mumbled.

Phoebe had settled into an armchair and was knitting something multi-coloured. “Crystal?” he queried.

“His real name is Chris Taylor,” Roger explained, “but everyone calls him Crystal.”

“And you love him?” Phoebe guessed, needles flying.

Roger listened to the rhythmic clicking and clacking of the knitting needles and found it soothing. Phoebe seemed absorbed in his task which made it easy for Roger to tell him how he felt about Crystal.

*

Freddie listened attentively as Crystal told him the story Trip had mentioned earlier on the phone. It was different hearing Crystal tell the tale.

He’d been working for an actor. Freddie knew the name. Everyone did. His suicide had been shocking.

The actor was married to a model everyone loved. They were a golden couple. “He was getting death threats,” Crystal explained, “from some nut who thought his wife should belong to them. It turned out to be an ex of hers. You probably read about it at the time. Anyway, he had a team watching his back. Like Roggie should have had.” Crystal sighed and sipped his drink.

The marriage to the beautiful model had been one of convenience. The actor hadn’t really intended that. He had been fighting against what he had been brought up to consider sinful and unnatural urges. “His parents were religious. They were very strict, I think,” Crystal told Freddie, “and he had been brought up to think that being attracted to another man was a sin.”

“But he couldn’t keep his hands off you?” Freddie sipped his own drink.

“He tried to,” Crystal said, turning his glass in his hands, watching the firelight and candlelight reflected in it. “There had been others before me. Temptations he had given in to.”

“Did you love him?” Freddie asked.

Crystal shook his head. “It was lust, pure and simple. Well,” he shrugged, “pure and simple for me. He found it sinful and complicated. And I liked him very much. Loved him as a friend, I suppose, but not the way I love Roger.” He looked fiercely at Freddie. “I love Roger.”

Freddie nodded. “Did Mr Famous Actor love you?” he wondered.

“I thought it was a bit of fun for him,” Crystal sighed. “I had no idea at the time that he was so conflicted about it. I had no idea he was so fucked up. I should have known. I pride myself on knowing everything about the client. Yet there I was breaking my own rule about keeping some emotional distance from the client and it turns out I knew nothing about him.”

“So you fucked him,” Freddie noted. “What about his lovely wife?”

Crystal flushed. “His lovely wife joined us once or twice,” he mumbled.

“Lucky boy,” Freddie grinned, “What’s her story?”

“She thought they were soul-mates then realised they were platonic soul-mates rather than romantic ones and that her husband was more interested in other men. She got less hassle as a married woman so they agreed to have an open relationship.”

Freddie frowned. “Sounds idyllic, but I take it he felt like he was living a lie?

“I suppose so,” Crystal said, “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“Do you blame yourself for his death?” Freddie asked gently.

“Well, I didn’t exactly help, did I?” Crystal snapped. 

“He made his own choice,” Freddie said. “After he died didn’t it come out that he had been dating a footballer? He had moved on from you, hadn’t he?”

Crystal nodded. “The police had found the bothersome ex and locked him up by then. I’d left a couple of trainee team members in place at their house until after the trial. It’s good training and there was no real danger to the client. He had started seeing the footballer – you get to hear things like that when you have a presence in the house – you can’t keep things secret from the security team. Then, one day, out of the blue, I got a call from one of the security team asking me to come over to the house. They were upset and when I got there I found...” Crystal knocked back his drink. “He wasn’t even in the bath,” he whispered, “which is where someone would usually do that, I think. He was in the hall, as if he’d been about to leave the house and then thought that instead he would... he would...”

Freddie put his arm around Crystal. “How awful for you, darling. That’s right, have a good sob, let it all out,” he advised him.

*

Phoebe tucked Roger into bed with a hot water bottle, clicking his tongue as he realised there was blood on Roger’s pillow. “I’ll just change this,” he said, “and then tomorrow I’ll go to the police and you can see a doctor then you’ll be re-united with your Crystal. Promise me you’ll tell him how you feel.” 

“There must be another way,” Roger said drowsily, “I don’t want you to be arrested.” A thought occurred to him. “Do you know where Foster was going to keep me?” Not, he thought sleepily, in his mansion, presumably.

*

“Sorry,” Crystal snuffled.

“No need to be sorry, darling,” Freddie smoothed Crystal’s hair, still holding him close. “You were scared that something bad would happen to Rog too if you fell for him weren’t you?”

“And it has,” Crystal gulped.

“But not because of you, dear,” Freddie said firmly, “because you deliberately left, didn’t you, to prevent anything bad happening; and also because the whole idea is ridiculous nonsense!”

“But... He...”

“You know you’re being silly, dear,” Freddie’s voice was stern, “because if you’d stayed – if you had allowed yourself to love him – then he wouldn’t be missing.” His voice quivered as he added, “Because you’d have been with him!”


	4. Love Knows No Rules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a slight scuffle and mentions of a gun, suicide and death. 
> 
> Also baking, reunions and kissing. :)

Love Knows No Rules

Phoebe taught Roger how to make pancakes the next morning. Roger was relieved to see that the mixing bowl they were using was not the same bowl he had a vague memory of puking in. “That one’s chipped,” Phoebe said, “so I don’t use it for baking but it still comes in handy sometimes.”

“Crystal’s going to be amazed,” Roger laughed, “we hadn’t started making sweet things before left.” 

Phoebe had realised the previous evening that he did know where Foster had intended to keep Roger. “He had a storage place. He owned a row of little rooms in the arches under a railway bridge and he kept one for himself for storage. The others were rented out to small businesses or used for storage by other people. He wanted me to take the clothes there,” Phoebe told Roger, his eyes widening as he digested the implications of this. “I was too tired to go there that night. I took the clothes home with me, intending to take them to the storage unit the next day but that was the day Mr Foster was arrested.” Phoebe’s eyes met Roger’s. “I had a key for the storage unit so I could deposit the clothes there. I still have the key.”

*

Crystal adjusted the shower setting so that icy cold water cascaded over his head. He gasped but forced himself to remain under the blast of freezing water. He should not have allowed himself to get drunk, he thought savagely. He should have kept a clear head. He needed to be able to think so he could find Roger.

And he certainly should not have told Freddie everything. He had a hazy recollection of promising Freddie that when they found Roger he would tell him how he felt about him. “Because, really, darling, you two have wasted enough time.”

*

His sister and Miami were on breakfast television. Clare mentioned tearfully that they had no images of the moment Roger had vanished because the shop CCTV wasn’t working.

“Sweetheart, look how upset she is, I really must hand myself in,” Phoebe fretted. 

Roger shook his head. “No,” he snuffled, tears dripping down his face, “no, Phoebe, because if there was no CCTV footage then no one knows about your involvement. Our plan will work.” He gulped. “They’ll just have to wait one more day.”

*

Clare launched herself at Crystal as he entered Miami’s office. “You promised you’d look after him! You promised!” She hammered at his chest with small fists.

“I’m sorry,” Crystal whispered, feeling inadequate. He had let her down. He had let Roger down. Roger had needed him and he hadn’t been there. Clare slumped against him and he felt her tears seeping into his t-shirt.

After a moment, she sniffed and stood back from him. “Tell me honestly,” she said, her voice shaking, “how likely is it that he is still alive?”

If he had been kidnapped for ransom then something had almost certainly gone wrong and the likelihood was that the error had resulted in Roger’s death which would explain why they had not received a ransom demand. If he had been taken for some other reason he might still be alive but they had very little chance of finding him before his captors tired of him and disposed of him.

Crystal opted for a careful, “Since there has been no ransom demand there is a chance he is alive.”

He still thought he would know if Roger was no longer alive. He’d feel it, wouldn’t he?

*

Phoebe parked in a shopping centre car park near their destination. It was a cold wet day so they had an excuse to pull their hoods up and wear scarves over the lower halves of their faces. Phoebe also wore gloves. Roger suspected Foster would have carefully ensured he was not on CCTV but you couldn’t be too careful.

The bustling commercial streets near the shopping centre gave way to shabbier streets with boarded up shops and colourful graffiti. It would have been easy to miss the entrance to the row of premises tucked away under the towering railway bridge.

Water dripped from damp brickwork. Lights mounted high above them on the curving walls flickered on and off. Phoebe curved his arm around Roger’s shoulders. “I’m not sure I should leave you here, dear,” he said.

“Let’s have a look at the place first,” Roger said, ignoring the lurch of anxiety in his stomach.

There was no one about. They walked by a plumbing supplies unit that looked deserted and a unit selling fabric where the door was ajar but there was no sign of life. The next place had steel shutters over the doors and windows. Then they arrived at the unit Phoebe had the key to. The windows were shuttered. The nearest light on the wall was out. Phoebe unlocked the door and they entered.

*

“Was what you said to Clare true?” Freddie asked as they left Miami’s office.

Crystal considered Freddie crying over Roger’s absence the previous night. “Yes,” he replied. It was not a complete lie. It was what he wanted to believe. Miami was asking his secretary to call a taxi for Clare. “I’ll drive you home,” Crystal offered.

“I’m sorry about before,” she said as she clipped her seatbelt into place. 

“I shouldn’t have left him,” Crystal muttered.

“No,” Clare agreed, “you shouldn’t. Why did you?” she added curiously.

*

The room held a camp-bed, a little electric fire, and on a small table by the wall a kettle and microwave oven with some plates and cutlery. There was a door leading to a cramped bathroom at the rear of the property with a shower, toilet and sink. Phoebe turned on the tap and flushed the loo. There was water and it looked clean.

They had brought the clothes Phoebe had purchased for Roger in a little suitcase they had wiped to hopefully eradicate Phoebe’s fingerprints. Phoebe looked around doubtfully. “Are you sure about this, Roger?”

Roger was not sure at all. “I’ll be fine,” he assured Phoebe. “I’ll spend the night here then go and ask for help. I’ll explain I was pretty out of it due to the head injury until then and had only just realised the door was unlocked. There should be no trace of you here and I won’t have seen my kidnapper. It’ll work.”

“If you need to tell the truth then do that, Roger, please,” Phoebe advised him. “I appreciate what you are doing for me.” He glanced around the room again. “If you want to change the plan for any reason, whether it is that you don’t want to lie to the police or you don’t want to spend the night here or for any other reason, then please don’t worry about me. Just do what’s right for you.”

“It’ll be fine,” Roger assured him.

*

Crystal was awakened by his phone buzzing and shrilling on Roger’s bedside table. He seized it. “Miami? Is there news?” he babbled.

“He’s at a police station,” Miami said, “I’m on my way there with Clare. We’ll stop at his house to get clothes for him. They want what he is wearing for forensic analysis.”

Crystal felt almost over-whelmed. Roger was alive! Roger was safe! He packed a bag with underwear, a soft cotton t-shirt, sweatpants and a hooded top, adding Roger’s favourite sparkly shoes and a pair of socks. He was mindful that Roger must be injured. He experienced a lurch of terror. He reminded himself that Miami was expecting to bring Roger home so he clearly didn’t need to stay in hospital. 

*

Roger was wearing a crinkly overall garment that rustled as he flung himself into Miami’s arms. Miami felt solid and reassuring. “You’re safe now,” Miami told him. Roger felt a pang of guilt which worsened when Clare started to cry as he hugged her.

*

Crystal had thoroughly cleaned the house while he waited. The band arrived together and he made tea and coffee for them. John positioned himself at the window and eventually announced that he could see Miami’s car approaching.

Crystal hung back, hovering, as Roger vanished into the arms of the band, everyone crowded into the small hallway. He could only get an occasional glimpse of blond hair. Then everyone seemed to melt to one side and Roger was suddenly there, pressing his face against Crystal’s shoulder. Crystal wrapped both arms around him, burying his face in Roger’s damp hair which carried the alien scent of some unfamiliar shampoo.

*

Crystal felt like safety, like home, and Roger was reluctant to leave the warm comfort of his hug. He had to explain what had happened, however, so he drew back, smiling at Crystal. “You came back,” he murmured.

“Yeah, well, I can’t keep away from drama,” Crystal joked, adding, “Would you like tea?”

*

Once everyone was settled with tea or coffee and a scone or a slice of cake or a biscuit (Crystal found baking soothing and had done quite a bit of it over the last couple of days) Roger told them what he had told the police. He started by telling them, “This is the version of events I gave to the police.”

He had gone to the shop. There had been a car driving along the street. Something had hit his head and knocked him unconscious. When he came to he was on a camp-bed in a small room stripped to his underwear. He had been alone. He had passed out again. The next time he had awakened he had used the bathroom and drunk some water from the tap which had exhausted him and he had slept again. He had felt better the next time he had woken up. He had showered and had found a suitcase of clothes that fitted him, although his own clothes seemed to have disappeared. There were no shoes and no coat or other outdoor items. When he had tried the door it had opened. He had wandered about barefoot until he had found the nearest tube station and requested assistance at the ticket office. The people at the ticket office had recognised him and called the police.

“That’s what I told the police,” he repeated as he finished reciting this tale. He studied them. Brian, John and Freddie were squashed together on the sofa, with Miami perched on the arm of it next to Freddie. Clare was in one armchair and he was occupying the other armchair, with Crystal perched next to him on the arm of his chair.

“And what really happened, dear?” Freddie asked, leaning forwards slightly.

“You’ll be cross with me,” Roger mumbled.

Crystal gently squeezed his shoulder. “Sometimes people have to do things to survive,” he began, softly.

Roger shook his head frantically and felt his ever present headache bloom into something more severe. “No, no, no! I didn’t... It wasn’t like that... It wasn’t like that at all,” he protested. He proceeded to tell them, much less coherently than he had told them the false story, about Phoebe.

“Oh, my God, he’s got Stockholm syndrome!” Brian gasped into the silence that followed Roger’s tale.

Crystal’s hand had remained a reassuringly comforting weight on Roger’s shoulder as he spoke and he squeezed Roger’s shoulder now. Crystal cleared his throat. “It’s debatable whether Stockholm syndrome actually exists or not,” he informed them, “There’s a high chance it was invented by a hostage negotiator to discredit the criticism of a hostage who spoke out about how his inept handling of the situation almost got her and the other hostages killed.”

Brian frowned. “It’s a very widespread idea.”

Crystal nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed, “it is a really popular theory but there’s very little evidence to suggest it actually exists.”

“I think you’d all like Phoebe too,” Roger said, “Especially you, Freddie.”

“Do you mean to say,” Clare said, standing up, hands clenching into fists, “that while we were worrying ourselves sick about you, you were being pampered by this Phoebe person?”

She stepped towards Roger, looking furious. “You atrocious little shit!” she hissed.

Roger was secretly glad when Crystal slid off the arm of the chair and stood slightly in front of him. “I agree he’s a little shit,” Crystal told her calmly, “but I can’t let you hit him – he has a head injury.”

Miami pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “Roger, since you have taken this extraordinary course of action and lied to the police then I’d like to try to pick holes in your story.”

“If the police find any flaws in your tale and you get caught out then at that point you will have Stockholm syndrome,” Crystal told him, with a grin. 

Suddenly they were all laughing and Roger felt relieved. He rose and hugged Clare. “I felt terrible about hurting you, really I did,” he murmured, “but I just couldn’t see Phoebe suffer for something that was really Foster’s fault.

“You’re too soft,” Clare muttered.

Crystal had stolen the armchair so Roger simply sat down on top of him. Crystal grumbled about his weight but wrapped his arms around Roger’s waist, holding him in place on his lap.

Roger was glad of Crystal’s reassuring presence as Miami interrogated him, asking for far more detail than the police had done. Where were Roger’s own clothes? Phoebe had put them in a charity bin. They had cut up his bank and credit cards and disposed of them. Roger added mournfully, “I’ll need to go to the bank.”

“Serves you right,” Miami told him, “Why did you do that?” he added.

“Phoebe had washed my clothes but we were concerned there would be traces on them that would link them to him,” Roger explained, “especially on my coat since he’d carried me to the car while I was wearing that and it hadn’t been washed. He’d looked in my wallet too, just to check I was who he had thought I was so his prints would have been on that. Plus we thought it might be more believable if all of my things were gone. And the new clothes had barely been touched. I packed those and we wiped the suitcase thoroughly.”

Roger explained that they had considered moving the blood-stained pillowcase from Phoebe’s house to the storage unit but were worried that would also provide a link back to Phoebe so instead, Roger had stuck a pin in his finger and dripped blood onto the pillow on the camp-bed.

“Good attention to detail,” John approved. 

“Where did you get the pin?” Miami asked.

“There was a little safety pin holding a label onto one of the new shirts,” Roger said. “I boiled the kettle and poured boiling water over it to sterilise it first,” he added, “I washed the pin clean again afterwards too.”

“You’d make a passable criminal, Rog,” Miami told him.

“Thanks,” Roger beamed.

*

Crystal stayed back again as everyone hugged and kissed Roger as they left. He was surprised to find Clare hugging him. “Tell him,” she hissed in his ear, before turning and pinching Roger’s arm.

“Ow!” Roger glared at her, “That hurt!”

“It was supposed to.” Clare informed him, “Don’t get into any more trouble.” She kissed his cheek. “Do what Crystal tells you to.”

Freddie also hugged Crystal. “Remember your promise, darling,” he murmured, before moving away and sweeping Roger into his arms. “Be good, Roggie,” he instructed Roger, adding something Crystal couldn’t hear.

*

As Roger waved to everyone from the doorstep he felt Crystal slide his arm around his waist. Crystal was apparently not leaving. That was good because Freddie had urged him to “tell Crystal how you feel, you gorgeous little fool.” And Roger had promised Phoebe to tell Crystal how he felt too. 

“You’re staying?” he asked uncertainly as they re-entered the house and Crystal closed and locked the door.

Crystal flushed. “I’ve been staying here since you vanished,” he explained, “but I can go home now, of course...”

Roger shook his head. “Stay,” he breathed, very aware of how close Crystal was. Fuck it, he thought. “Stay with me forever,” he murmured, pressing his lips against Crystal’s.

He was very aware of Crystal’s strong arm circling his waist, of the warm sandalwood scent of him, of Crystal’s fingers brushing his jaw, loose hair tickling Roger’s cheek. Roger gasped as he drew back. “I love you,” he blurted out.

*

Crystal moved his hand to gently caress Roger’s hair, mindful of his head injury. His other arm was still curved around Roger, holding him close. Roger’s lovely eyes were searching his face and he realised he hadn’t said anything. He pressed his lips to the uninjured side of Roger’s forehead. “And I love you,” he said. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” he added fiercely.

Roger flopped against him and Crystal realised just how tense he had been. He gently rubbed Roger’s back. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

“M’ head hurts,” Roger muttered, causing Crystal to swiftly remove his hand from Roger’s hair. “Not because of you,” Roger added, sounding amused.

“Have you seen a doctor?” Crystal wondered. He was relieved when Roger nodded.

“Saw the police doctor,” Roger mumbled, “and he said I’d most likely had concussion but I should be okay. He gave me a leaflet.”

Crystal thought painkillers might have been more useful than a leaflet. He steered Roger into the kitchen and gently pushed him onto a chair. “I’ll get some painkillers sorted for you then you can have a nice nap,” he said.

“I don’ need a nap,” Roger insisted, drowsily, looking exhausted. “Cuddles’d be nice, though.” He sounded almost shy.

He accepted a glass of water and obediently swallowed the pills Crystal gave him. He snuggled against Crystal when he sat next to him. “Did you sleep at all last night?” Crystal asked.

“Not much,” Roger confessed, “It was a bit scary,” he admitted. “You must think me such a baby.”

Crystal held him close. “No, love,” he murmured. “Roger, although this Phoebe was nice to you that was still a scary situation to find yourself in. I bet you were scared when you first realised you were in a strange place?”

Roger nodded. “A bit,” he said in a small voice.

“Anyone would have been,” Crystal told him.

Roger tried to tell Crystal he had attempted to follow the kidnapping rules but was appalled to discover he was crying instead, face pressed to Crystal’s t-shirt.

“You did really well, Roggie,” Crystal assured him. “You’re here and you’re alive and that’s what matters.”

Roger nestled against Crystal. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“You don’t need to be sorry, love,” Crystal told him. He kissed the top of Roger’s head. “You remembered my rules for if you were kidnapped?” he added.

Roger nodded. “They didn’t really fit, though.”

Crystal kissed him. “It means a lot to me that you remembered them and you tried to follow them.”

*

It felt right to have Roger back in his arms mumbling nonsense in his sleep. Later, Roger became agitated, making little distressed noises. “You’re safe, love,” Crystal assured Roger as his nightmare jolted him awake.

“You will stay, won’t you?” Roger whispered. “Always,” he added.

“Always,” Crystal promised. Roger was no longer a client, he firmly told the little anxious voice in his head that was reminding him of his ‘don’t make promises you can’t keep’ rule. This was a promise he fully intended to keep.

“I’ve missed you,” Roger sighed.

“I’ve missed you too,” Crystal murmured, stroking Roger’s hair.

“I didn’t think you’d want me,” Roger mumbled, “Too weak and too silly.”

“That’s not how I see you,” Crystal told him. “You’re brave and strong and sweet and kind and clever but also kinda dopey.”

“Thanks, I think,” Roger smiled. 

“I... The only other time I got involved with a client it didn’t end well so I... I... So, I have a rule about not mixing business with pleasure,” Crystal gabbled. 

“You broke a rule?” Roger trailed his fingers down Crystal’s chest. He considered this. “You broke the same rule more than once?” He sounded amused. 

“No, I did not,” Crystal huffed. “I didn’t break that rule with you. I left.”

Roger snorted. “You left because you couldn’t keep to that rule,” he said.

“I could’ve resisted your charms,” Crystal grumbled.

“Liar,” Roger laughed, kissing him.

“Okay, maybe I did leave partially because you’re reasonably alluring and you might have been making it hard for me to keep obeying that rule,” Crystal admitted gruffly. 

“What happened before me?” Roger asked after a moment. 

“Not now,” Crystal pleaded after a short pause. He could not tell that story to Roger tonight when everything felt so right and cosy and magical. 

“Okay,” Roger agreed sleepily. “My nightmares are usually about my father leaving,” he added abruptly, “but lately they’ve been about you leaving. I fucked up and you left me.”

Crystal held him a little tighter. “I’m sorry,” he apologised, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You’re staying?” Roger muttered.

“I’m staying, Rog, I promise,” Crystal assured him.

“Even if I break more rules,” Roger fretted.

“I don’t think there are any rules for this,” Crystal told him, “but I promise I won’t leave you, not even if you break every rule I can think of.”

“I didn’t mean to break the eyesight rule,” Roger mumbled sleepily, “I jus’ didn’t think. It’d have been like telling you my eyes are blue, y’ know?”

“I know, love,” Crystal murmured, “it’s okay, I’m sorry: I should have realised you had dodgy eyesight.” He kissed the top of Roger’s head. “That was partly the problem with the person before you,” he whispered, “I wasn’t observant enough.”

*

An alarm was shrieking. Crystal groaned and opened his eyes. Roger didn’t usually set an alarm. 

Roger was not in the bed.

“Rog?” Crystal shot out of bed and headed out of the bedroom. He could smell something burning. “Roggie?” He hurtled downstairs heading for the kitchen. 

Roger was wobbling about, standing on top of a chair, trying to silence the howling smoke alarm. Crystal firmly lifted him off the chair. “I’ll do it,” he said, clambering on to the chair and wrenching the smoke alarm cover off then flipping out the battery.

“Oh, thank God!” Roger gasped as the shrieking alarm stopped. “You’re my hero!” He hugged Crystal as he hopped off the chair. “I’m sorry, I was making pancakes for breakfast but they’ve gone a bit wrong...”

“Are you hurt?” Crystal asked, relieved when Roger shook his head. “Pancakes,” he added, realising what Roger had just said. Their cookery lessons had not included pancakes.

“Phoebe showed me how to make ‘em,” Roger explained. He frowned. “It seemed a lot easier when he was helping.”

“This Phoebe taught you how to make pancakes?” Crystal growled.

Roger gave him a little kiss. “You’re so sweet when you’re jealous!”

“I’m not jealous,” Crystal spluttered. He smoothed Roger’s hair back off his face. “This Phoebe obviously isn’t a very good teacher,” he muttered. 

Roger grinned then sighed. “Maybe I’m not a very good pupil.”

Crystal ran his hand down Roger’s back. Roger was wearing his underpants and an apron. “Nice outfit, blondie,” he murmured. 

“I like your minimalist look too,” Roger mumbled, spreading the fingers of one hand across Crystal’s bare chest and using the fingers of his other hands to pluck at the waistband of Crystal’s underwear. Then he swayed on his feet, his face bone white.

“Roger? Love?” Crystal helped him to a chair.

“Sorry... I... The alarm... My head...” Roger mumbled. “Sorry, I’m such a rubbish boyfriend. I’ve ruined breakfast, destroyed the kitchen and my head hurts too much for me to make it up to you.”

Crystal kissed him. “I’ll sort out the kitchen and breakfast. I’m gonna take you back to bed.” He carefully removed the apron then scooped Roger into his arms, carrying him bridal-style up to the bedroom and gently depositing him on the bed. “Take it easy, okay? I’ll be back soon.”

*

The kitchen wasn’t too bad. Crystal opened all the windows to allow the smoke to disperse. Roger had already opened the doors that led onto the terrace and Crystal found the charred remains of a tea-towel that had evidently caught fire out on the terrace next to a blackened and smouldering frying-pan. The tea-towel was beyond rescue and Crystal suspected the frying-pan might be unsalvageable too.

Roger was drowsy when he returned to the bedroom to haul on some clothes so he could go across to the cafe and buy breakfast. Roger smiled as Crystal tenderly kissed his forehead. Crystal murmured where he was going. “I’ve left the back doors open and the kitchen windows,” he told Roger, as he was slightly uneasy about the leaving the back of the house open like that. “I won’t be long, though.”

*

Daisy in the cafe was delighted to see him. Crystal was slightly surprised that she recalled him. He was uncomfortable about leaving Roger alone and half-asleep with the house unsecured and open to any random threat. He told Daisy that Roger was ill (which was kind of true) and that he didn’t want to leave him alone for too long (which was definitely true).

“Aw, are you two a couple now?” she cooed. Crystal could not prevent a huge grin from breaking out across his face as he confirmed they were, feeling a little thrill of happiness.

*

Roger was unharmed – propped up on several pillows – when he returned to the house. Crystal sat next to him on the bed, offering coffee, pastries and painkillers. “Do you think you can eat something alongside the painkillers, sweetheart?” he asked, adding, “I think we should just stay in bed today.”

Roger nibbled on a pain-au-chocolat. “I have to do an interview later with the band,” he told Crystal. “Miami sent me a message.”

*

“He’s not really fit for this,” Crystal grumbled to Miami. They were viewing the interview from behind a forest of cameras and camera crew, leads and lighting equipment. They could see the band sitting in a row on a canary yellow sofa being interviewed by a suave man in a red armchair.

They looked tiny in the vast expanse of the studio. Roger’s bruises stood out vividly on his chalk white face, even at the distance Miami and Crystal were viewing him from. He looked small and fragile and Crystal wanted to bundle him up in his arms and take him home.

“It won’t take long,” Miami assured him, “Their album just hit the top of the charts. This is a good opportunity for them to publicise the upcoming tour. I’m afraid we’re using Roger to do that.”

“Yeah, well, he might not mind but I do,” Crystal growled, although he found Miami’s candour about the situation slightly disarming.

“Duly noted,” Miami nodded, “and to be honest, I’d think less of you if you didn’t.”

*

Roger fell asleep in the car on the way home. Crystal realised with a jolt that he thought of it as home now: their home.

Roger stirred as Crystal lifted him out of the car. “We’re home, love, I’m just going to take you up to bed.”

“This isn’t how I thought going to bed with you as my boyfriend would be,” Roger sighed.

*

It took another few days before Roger awakened one morning with no headache. “I feel better today,” he announced cheerfully to Crystal. “I think we should stay in bed.”

Crystal kissed him hungrily. “Sounds like a plan, love.”

*

Crystal accepted a job with Trip’s training company. Trip was agreeable to scheduling Crystal’s courses for times when Roger was going to be at home. This would allow Crystal to accompany Roger on tour.

On tour he would effectively be the band’s (currently unpaid) security adviser. “We’ll get you on the payroll as soon as that’s financially viable,” Miami promised. 

Crystal was selling his house and while they were on tour Trip was going to oversee alterations to Roger’s house (their house now) to increase the security. A better fence, motion detectors and more cameras were amongst the features being added.

*

Roger met Trip for the first time shortly before they were due to depart on tour. He was nervous about meeting Trip, who was clearly such a good friend to Crystal. He wanted to obtain Trip’s good opinion but felt that from what Trip had heard about him so far he surely thought of Roger as Trouble and not good enough for Crystal.

They had arranged to meet for lunch in a cafe Roger had not been to before. Crystal slipped his arms around Roger’s shoulders as they entered and Roger found that comforting.

Trip had arrived first and rose to greet them. “So you’re the man who made Crystal break his rules,” he laughed, folding Roger into a warm hug. “I’m very pleased to finally meet you!”

*

“I think Trip likes you more than he likes me,” Crystal said later, pulling Roger into his arms.

They were in bed and Roger nestled against Crystal thinking how well they fit together. He thought about what Trip had said earlier. “How many rules did you have? Rules for you to obey, I mean.”

Crystal sighed. “Three main ones,” he admitted.

“And how many did you break?” Roger wondered in amusement.

“Kind of all of them,” Crystal muttered. 

“What were they?” Roger was curious. “I know about not leaping into bed with your client, of course, but what were the other two?” He peppered Crystal’s face with little kisses and registered that Crystal seemed uncomfortable. 

“Rule two was basically about not letting anything happen to the client,” Crystal sighed.

Roger considered this. “You didn’t let anything happen to me,” he pointed out. He very gently asked, “Did you break that rule before you met me?”

“You were kidnapped,” Crystal noted, “and that wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t left you before the job was properly finished. I broke that rule before you too... I...” 

“It’s okay,” Roger soothed him, “you don’t have to tell me, everything’s okay.”

“I want to tell you,” Crystal croaked, “but not now, not here.”

“Okay, that’s okay, love,” Roger kissed him, “and what was your third rule, darling?”

“Not to make promises I might not be able to keep,” Crystal mumbled, “Really, I always tried not to make promises at all, but I promised you I’d keep you safe.”

“And you have kept me safe,” Roger noted, “You might have broken that rule but you didn’t break your promise.”

*

They were in a motel room somewhere in Idaho, or maybe it was Wyoming, it was easy to lose track, when Crystal told Roger about the client before him. They were sitting cross-legged on top of the slippery cover of one of the beds drinking vodka and orange juice from flimsy plastic tumblers. Roger listened intently. “Do you blame yourself for this?” Roger asked as Crystal finished his tale.

Crystal nodded. “I’m supposed to know everything about my client, Rog. I should certainly pick up on the fact that they are suicidal.”

“His wife doesn’t seem to have realised,” Roger pointed out, “although they were close to each other.” He reached over and gently caressed Crystal’s cheek. “His new lover doesn’t seem to have been aware of how he was feeling. The security people you left in the house with him don’t seem to have picked up on it. I think you might be being a little bit hard on yourself, love.”

“I should have known,” Crystal muttered, “just as I should have known about your terrible eyesight.”

“You’re not superhuman, Crys,” Roger said softly, “You hold yourself to standards you would never expect other people to achieve.”

Crystal knocked his drink back. “He deserved better.” He crumpled the plastic cup in his fist.

“When your trainees found him,” Roger said carefully, “they called you because they trusted and respected you and they needed your help and expertise. They knew, as I do, that you were excellent at your job. Your former client had the best bodyguard and the kindest, sweetest lover imaginable.”

“You’re biased,” Crystal sniffed.

“I’m very lucky,” Roger told him. He kissed Crystal. “I am so, so lucky to have you.”

Crystal curled up on the bed, resting his head on Roger’s thigh. He felt Roger’s fingers gently brushing through his hair. “You’re sweet.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Roger murmured. “And I am here for you. If you ever need to talk or you need anything at all then I am here.”

*

The police gave Roger occasional updates on his unsolved case. They told him the storage unit he had been kept in had belonged to Raymond Foster. They let him know that they had only found Roger’s own fingerprints and those of the late Raymond Foster in the storage unit. 

Around six months after the kidnapping, Raymond Foster’s son, Jeremy, was arrested for stalking his former stepmother, Alicia. “Creepy,” Crystal commented, succinctly. 

The police suspected that Jeremy Foster may also have been involved in Roger’s abduction. Roger was concerned by this. “Should I come clean?” he asked Crystal.

“The police have said that Jeremy Foster denies any involvement in your kidnapping,” Crystal pointed out, “and they have no evidence, no fingerprints or anything like that, to connect him to you. They suspect, wrongly, that it was him but they can’t prove it. The way I see it, this causes no harm to Jeremy Foster but it does mean the police are likely to stop looking for anyone else in connection to your case so it gets your precious Phoebe off the hook.”

Phoebe had sent Roger a multi-coloured hand-knitted woollen jumper for Christmas. Roger loved it. “It’s a fucking monstrosity,” Crystal had fumed to Freddie.

“He looks sweet,” Freddie disagreed, “And you’re sweet too, dear, all jealous of this Phoebe character.”

Crystal had protested that he was not jealous. It would have been silly, after all, to be jealous of someone Roger had essentially spent a couple of days with and had not seen since. And Roger being kind-hearted enough to go to a lot of trouble to help someone was just Roger being Roger and did not mean that Roger loved Phoebe.

Roger’s good-natured willingness to help complete strangers sometimes scared Crystal.

*

Crystal was grudgingly impressed that Phoebe got in touch via the police. Roger received a call from his police liaison officer saying Phoebe would like to meet him to formally apologise for his involvement in taking photographs of Roger for Raymond Foster. Roger could refuse to see him, of course, or he could see him with the police liaison officer present.

Roger agreed to see Phoebe and assured the liaison officer that their attendance was not required. “I’ll have my bodyguard with me.”

They met at the cafe across the road. Phoebe was waiting for them. Roger shook hands with him, solemnly saying, “Pleased to meet you. This is my partner, Crystal.”

Crystal simply gave Phoebe a hard stare. Phoebe stammered, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Once they were settled with drinks and cakes Phoebe asked Roger in a hushed tone if he thought they were being watched. “We can’t be too careful,” Roger replied, glancing around the cafe.

Crystal laughed. “I didn’t notice any signs of surveillance,” he told them, amused, “so I’m pretty sure you’re safe!”

“I take it you’re here about Jeremy Foster’s arrest?” Roger guessed.

Phoebe nodded. “If you want to go to the police then I understand, Roger.”

Crystal felt slightly put out. Phoebe was nice. Roger had told him that, of course. He sighed. “Mr Freestone...”

“Oh, call me Phoebe, please.”

“Phoebe, then, you do realise that by instructing you to take the clothes intended for Roger to the storage unit Foster was almost certainly trying to make sure your fingerprints and D.N.A were at that site? I doubt he would have hesitated in pointing the finger of blame in your direction if he had been caught. Jeremy Foster, who sounds as thoroughly unpleasant as his father, is not in any danger of going to prison for your actions so personally I don’t see any reason to say anything further to the police.”

Roger and Phoebe were both staring at him, wide-eyed. “I hadn’t thought of it like that,” Phoebe said after a while. 

Crystal thought they were both blessed innocents. He felt a little satisfied glow because Roger was looking at him with an expression on his face that Crystal was categorising as ‘adoring’. He had pleased Roger. Life was good. 

“We definitely did the right thing,” Roger decided. He flung his arms around Crystal. “You’re so clever!”

*

Roger watched fondly as Phoebe and Crystal swapped gingerbread recipes. They seemed to be getting along excellently now. He’d known everyone would like Phoebe.

Once they had got the business about Foster out of the way the conversation had turned to what they had been doing since they had last seen each other. Phoebe felt like an old friend.

Phoebe had been working as an assistant to an old lady. He had been enjoying the position. “She has a sweet tooth so I’ve been trying out new recipes for her,” he had explained, which had led to an animated discussion with Crystal about baking.

Phoebe’s face clouded over. “She’s moving into residential care soon so I shall have to start looking for another job.”

Roger opened his mouth to suggest that Phoebe should work for the band. He closed his mouth again though. Would it be weird to ask his kidnapper to work for him? He did not think of Phoebe as a kidnapper though. There would definitely have to be a band discussion first.

*

“Absolutely not,” Brian snapped. “That’s a preposterous idea!”

“He’s got experience as an assistant and I know you’ll all really like him!” Roger protested, “And we were talking the other day about hiring someone, now that there’s a bit more money available.”

“He’s a criminal!” Brian pointed out. 

“He doesn’t have a criminal record,” Roger noted, “anymore than I do. And we committed the same crime so I’m a criminal too!”

“Now, you know that’s not true, dear,” Freddie said, “You were in a very difficult position.”

“Phoebe didn’t force me to do anything,” Roger assured them. “He’s much too nice to do that.”

“Perhaps we should interview him,” John suggested, “with Miami present but not you, Rog. Then we could see for ourselves what he is like.”

Brian threw his hands up in the air. “I cannot believe you are seriously considering hiring the person who kidnapped Roger! He put us through hell!”

“I am proposing interviewing him to see how we feel about him,” John corrected him, “and then making a decision about whether or not to hire him. Roger would have to accept that our decision would be final.”

Roger glanced from face to face. “I can accept that,” he agreed. He knew they would like Phoebe.

*

“He better not get higher pay than me,” Crystal grumbled.

“Do we pay you?” Roger looked genuinely surprised. 

Crystal grabbed him and kissed him fiercely. “Yes, you bloody well do but you pay me a pittance.”

Roger looked troubled. “John decides all that. Would you like me to ask him to give you more money?”

Crystal kissed him again, slower this time, pulling Roger close. Crew-members were milling around them but no one took any notice of them, accustomed to their public displays of affection. Roger was still in his stage outfit and was damp with sweat. “I’m joking, love. You better get changed before you catch your death.” He shuddered at the very idea. 

“You like Phoebe don’t you?” Roger asked anxiously. 

“Yeah, I do.” More to the point, Crystal thought, he had researched Phoebe very thoroughly and had found nothing disquieting about him (other than him having kidnapped Roger, of course). And he had to admit (although never to Phoebe) that the gingerbread recipe had been very good. 

Although when they reached the dressing room and Roger was ecstatic because Phoebe had heated his robe for him Crystal felt slightly put out. Doting on Roger was his job.

*

There was ice on the steps of the venue as they left and Crystal caught Freddie as he slipped, silently cursing the organisers for this lack of attention to detail. They had arrived at a different entrance and he cursed himself too for not checking this one. Freddie’s words of thanks were almost drowned out by the yells of the crowd.

He heard Roger say, “Oh,” in a surprised voice and sensed movement behind him.

Swinging round, almost losing his own footing on the icy steps, he saw someone lunging at Roger. 

The someone had a gun. 

He was going to be too far away.

Then the threat was flying backwards, a shot was fired into the air as he tumbled down the icy steps and Crystal realised that Phoebe had punched him in the face. Phoebe looked shocked. Crystal seized Roger. “Back inside,” he barked.

He looked questioningly at Phoebe as they headed back up the steps. “That was Jeremy Foster,” he explained. “Oh, dear, I do hope he isn’t too badly hurt. I’ve never hit anyone before.”

Crystal hoped he had broken his damn neck but doubted they would be that lucky. The security team from the venue were now converging on Foster where he lay at the bottom of the steps. “Thank you, Phoebe,” he said, feeling a rush of gratitude towards this man who had taken Roger away from them once but had now protected him. “Are you okay?” he added to Roger.

“Yeah,” Roger nodded. “Thanks,” he said to Phoebe, aiming a small smile at him.

*

Later, after they had caused the person in the room next door to thump on the wall and yell at them to shut up (“You’re really hot when you’re all masterful, Crystal.”) Roger snuggled drowsily against Crystal. 

“I failed you, there,” Crystal fretted.

“I’ll punish you tomorrow night, I’m too tired now,” Roger mumbled.

“Fuck you. But seriously.”

“I’m very serious about the fucking. And you need to stop beating yourself up so much. I’m here. Nothing bad happened to me.” Roger kissed Crystal. “Maybe we should have a rule about that. Don’t worry so much about Roger.” He kissed Crystal again. “You’ll get premature frown lines.”

“I think I already have them.” Crystal sighed. “If it hadn’t been for Phoebe...”

“He’s a good addition to the team, good back-up, apparently.”

“I’d have been too late.” Crystal’s voice cracked. 

“Crystal, you do realise that although Phoebe punched him it was you who kicked him?” Roger sat up. “I may have poor eyesight but I’m not that blind.”

Crystal considered this. “Oh,” he said in a small voice. “I guess I just acted so instinctively I didn’t even really notice.” He groaned. “I hope I haven’t been too nice to Phoebe. I wouldn’t want him to get used to that.”

Roger laughed, before adding quietly, “You should give me some self-defence lessons because I kind of froze...”

“I should,” Crystal agreed, “we could start tomorrow, after you’ve meted out whatever punishment you’re giving me?”

“Sounds good to me,” Roger agreed.

*

It turned out that several people had recorded the incident showing Crystal kicking Jeremy Foster from various angles. If this proof had not been there Crystal would still have doubted that he had done anything to safeguard Roger.

Jeremy Foster had broken his neck. His death would have been instantaneous. Crystal was not sure how he felt about having killed him. He had seemed a deeply unpleasant person but presumably he had a mother somewhere who had loved him. 

Over breakfast Phoebe was fretting about the same thing. “That poor boy,” he said, looking appalled.

“He was pointing a gun at Roger,” John pointed out, “and he seems to have been a total bastard.”

“You didn’t mean to kill him, dear,” Freddie pointed out, “and frankly, you and Crystal are my heroes for saving Roger. I thought that Foster boy was in prison for stalking his stepmother?”

“There wasn’t enough proof, apparently,” Crystal told him, “so he was free to go. He seems to feel that his reputation was tarnished as a result and that if his father hadn’t attacked Rog then he would never have been arrested himself. He seems to have somehow come to the conclusion that it was all Roger’s fault.”

“What I don’t understand,” Brian said, waving a spoon loaded with soggy cornflakes around, “is why he didn’t just shoot Roger.”

“Thanks a bunch, Bri,” Roger laughed.

“You know what I mean,” Brian said, “I’m glad he didn’t shoot you but I don’t understand why he didn’t.”

“He couldn’t get a clear shot,” Crystal muttered. Phoebe had been in the way. He didn’t think Phoebe realised that. It was another thing to be grateful to Phoebe for. 

“Oh,” Brian said, glancing towards Phoebe, his eyes widening as he realised why.

He could have just shot Phoebe, of course. Then he would have had a clear shot at Roger. Since he hadn’t shot Phoebe, perhaps he wasn’t all that bad. It didn’t make him any less dead, though.

Roger placed a mug of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him. He slid his arms around Crystal from behind him, murmuring in his ear, “He fell, Crys, it was an accident. Don’t blame yourself.” He slid on to the seat next to Crystal. “What was it you said to me on that first day?”

“I gave you a lot of information that first day,” Crystal grumbled, although Roger constantly surprised him by how well he could recite Crystal’s rules and tips back to him. He would never admit that to Roger. 

“You are responsible for your own security,” Roger quoted. “So, Jeremy Foster was responsible for his own security while he was attacking me. You and Phoebe were responsible for your own security during the actions you took to protect me. Jeremy Foster may or may not have considered the risks of what he was doing. One risk was that he would die. If things had gone differently that could have been you or Phoebe who wound up dead. Or me.” Roger kissed Crystal’s cheek. “It happened the way it happened.” 

It was part of the S.A.F.E.T.Y rule, Crystal thought.

Stop and think. He had not stopped or thought.

Assess the threat. He had barely been aware of the threat. He had his back to the threat. He had not seen the gun until the last moment. He had acted purely on instinct.

Find help. Phoebe had helped but Crystal hadn’t found him.

Evacuate the client. He had removed Roger from the situation but much later than was ideal. 

Take action. He supposed he had done that, at least, but did it count if you were acting so much on instinct that you didn’t know what you were doing? He suspected not. 

You are responsible for your own security. They could easily all have died. He shuddered at the thought. 

Roger stroked Crystal’s hair. “You know how Trip had recommended that therapist...” 

This was a subject Roger brought up occasionally. Trip had suggested Crystal ought to talk to a professional about The Client Before Roger. Roger had approved of this idea and now he presumably thought Crystal needed to talk to someone about Jeremy Foster’s death. “I’ll think about it,” he muttered. Previously he had always switched topics and not acknowledged what Roger or Trip had said and he felt slightly ashamed of that when he saw how happy Roger looked now. 

“Thank you,” he said, “for caring.”

“Thank you for saving my life again,” Roger responded. 

*

Crystal surveyed the training class in front of him. New recruits keen to enter the supposedly glamorous world of the close protection operative. Trip had already disabused them of the notion that there was anything glamorous about this line of work. He had impressed upon them that although the pay was generous they were literally risking their lives.

“I can teach you the tricks of the trade,” Crystal told them softly. “I can give you tips and I can list rules for you to follow in pretty much every situation you can imagine. However, when you are in a dangerous and rapidly changing situation all the rules in the world won’t save you. Under those circumstances you should listen to your heart and let your instincts guide you.”

It all came back to love, he thought, as he looked at the trainees furiously taking notes although he suspected he was talking bollocks. Maybe everyone’s heart had a set of hidden rules that unfolded once you found someone to love. Maybe those rules constantly changed as your relationship evolved. Perhaps the rules of love were adaptable. Or perhaps he had been correct when he had told Roger there were no rules for this kind of thing. Or did you have to know the rules inside out so that you knew when to take a chance, when you could or should break them? Maybe everyone was just making it up as they went along. Whatever the case, his love for Roger had transformed his life and he was enjoying seeing everything open up in front of him like a blossoming flower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who kept reading this and thank you for all your lovely comments! :)

**Author's Note:**

> I might have become slightly obsessed with Crystal's muscles.  
> If you got this far then thanks for reading!


End file.
